


27

by Recluse



Category: Free!
Genre: Character Study, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multiple Perspectives, Non-Linear Narrative, References to High Speed Novels, Relationship Study, Retirement, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: Haruka Nanase retires from professional swimming at 26 years old.
Relationships: Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto
Comments: 18
Kudos: 129





	27

**_BREAKING!! Haruka Nanase Announces Retirement!_ **

_Haruka Nanase, the enigmatic Japanese Olympian who currently carries the world record time for the 100m freestyle, has officially announced his retirement from the sport at the age of 26._

_When asked for a reason for his retirement, he had answered, in his well known, traditionally cryptic fashion,_

_“I no longer felt free.”_

_Notably, the Olympic gold medalist had smiled after answering. When asked to elaborate though, Nanase had shook his head and said nothing else, and for the rest of the interview had refused all other questions about it. Currently, there is only speculation about what he plans to do next, though there is hope that in the coming weeks he’ll elaborate on his decision._

_The whole swimming world can’t help but wonder though:_

_What is Haruka Nanase going to do now?_

* * *

Kiyoteru Aihara quickly knocks at a door.

“I hope he’s here…!”

It seems that he’s buzzing with an uncontainable energy. He is fourteen and springing up like a weed, but his face is childish, still round, eyes big and bright. 

Makoto Tachibana opens the door of the swim club, just a minute off from their listed open hours, and says, “Kiyoteru-kun, you’re here early today!”

“Coach Tachibana,” Kiyoteru says, leaning forward, and Makoto takes a step back, allowing him into the almost empty facility; only a few other members of the staff there so early. “Is it true that Nanase-san is retiring for good?”

It takes Makoto a minute to process the question, and then, “Eh?”

“You don’t _know?_ ” Kiyoteru exclaims, practically shoving his phone into Makoto’s face. “Look! It was announced this morning!”

Makoto draws further back, just enough to squint at the tiny letters on Kiyoteru’s phone screen and read the headline. Beyond him, Kiyoteru stares at his face, excited for the answers he thinks Makoto has.

“Haru..?” He whispers, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

For a moment, he’s speechless, just staring at the words. A strange feeling slides up against his ribs, familiar and unfamiliar in its unpleasantness.

Rather suddenly, Kiyoteru pulls his phone back. It’s an unexpected movement, and Makoto blinks, once, twice, before refocusing on the boy in front of him.

Kiyoteru shuffles his phone back into his pocket, stepping from one side to the other. 

“Erm, actually, nevermind.” He says, shifting still. Left foot, right foot.

“Nevermind?” Makoto asks, and Kiyoteru looks up at him and nods. 

“Yeah, nevermind! I mean, I’m...Uhm…” He waves his hands around aimlessly, growing quieter and quieter with each word. “Sorry. I just assumed you already knew.”

(Kiyoteru is one of Makoto’s oldest students, one from the very first class that Makoto ever taught after being hired six years ago. He had been older than Makoto had expected, for an introductory class; in fact, he had been the oldest one there. He had been quiet ― still is, with many others ― and awkward. Small, for his age, and painfully uncertain. New to the area. 

There were parts of him that Makoto saw reflected in himself, a certain kind of fear that never really leaves. A certain kind of panic from deep below, something lurking, waiting to strike, a serpent lying in the shadows of the heart.)

“Kiyoteru-kun,” he says gently, “it’s all right.”

Reaching out slowly, he ruffles his hair. Kiyoteru lets out a small, nervous breath, and Makoto smiles as warmly as he can and answers his earlier question.

“About Haru, he―” Makoto pauses, searching for words quickly, before that nervous energy returns full force to Kiyoteru’s face, “―sometimes he does things suddenly.”

“Oh.” Kiyoteru says, and Makoto smiles again, reassuringly. 

“I don’t know if it’s for good.” Makoto says, “I’ll have to ask him about it. Thanks for letting me know.”

Kiyoteru stares up at him, still wavering just a bit, and Makoto tilts his head towards the pool.

“We never finished talking about your backstroke yesterday, did we?” He turns, waving a hand to beckon Kiyoteru closer. “That’s why you’re here so early, right?”

For a brief second, Kiyoteru pauses. Then he nods, smiles. Walks forward.

“Thank you, Coach Tachibana.” He says, and to that, Makoto smiles.

* * *

_Mr. Matsuoka, what are your thoughts on Haruka Nanase’s sudden retirement announcement? You’re both known to have been rivals and friends for a long time, is there anything you have to say about it?”_

_“Ah, Haru, that guy…He’s…”_

_“…Haha. It’s hard to think about, I guess. I’ve never really understood what goes on in his head.”_

_“Do you have any idea what he meant by his reason for his retirement?”_

_“I wish! Even now I don’t always know what he means when he says stuff like that. But there is one thing I’m sure about: Haru’s never going to stop swimming.”_

_“So you think he’ll come back after taking some time off?”_

_“...No. He...I think he’s done, competitively. It’s not easy to tell, with him, but...I don’t think he’ll ever come back to compete.”_

_“But he won’t leave the swimming world behind him completely, is that what you’re saying?”_

_“Yes, that’s it.”_

_“Thank you for your thoughts. Now, about you...It’s confirmed you’ll be staying with the Australian team, is there a specific reason…”_

* * *

“This is crazy.” 

Akihito Fukuchi rubs at his eyes. It’s barely been a day since Nanase dropped that bombshell announcement on the press and went near AWOL, and he’s the one having to deal with it.

When he had first met Haruka Nanase, he had thought the man quiet and a bit off in his own head, but hardly anything to worry about. He had seemed level-headed. Had seemed mature. Had seemed easy to manage, especially with a trainer already.

Oh, how wrong he was.

He wasn’t wrong about his quiet nature, or that he was level-headed, or even that he was mature. Haruka Nanase was often those things, displayed those things with a grace that made people envious, as if he had figured out his whole self early. At his best, he was the epitome of someone who understood himself wholeheartedly, and it would be a lie if Akihito said he didn’t sometimes admire that. It would be impossible not to.

But by the gods, Nanase’s difficulties were _difficulties_.

Never, in Akihito’s entire life, has he met another person who clings to their individuality as strongly as Nanase does. He centers himself around who he is, and in turn, seems to have an enormous disconnect to most other people on the planet. He tries, Akihito knows, but the way his mind works, it’s like he’s on a different plane of existence. The things he feels, the way he understands things ― it’s all so different from what Akihito would call the “average person” that he can barely understand it himself. 

Not to mention that when Nanase makes choices, when Nanase makes _serious_ choices, he can be the most stubborn person Akihito has ever had to deal with. He anchors himself in place and puts up thick walls, fighting whatever tries to change his mind without moving an inch. He’s like a maze that changes shape to suit itself, with little to no regard for others on the matter, and Akihito’s been trying to walk through that labyrinth for ages while getting battered by it all the while.

“Too much.” Akihito mutters to himself, shoving a hand through his hair.

He knows he’s being overly harsh. Nanase was sometimes dense to how other people felt, but he also was almost always attuned to when anyone felt _something_ , even if he didn’t understand it personally. There was a sensitivity to him that had definitely influenced his career’s ups and downs; Akihito’s been watching over him long enough to see it. He never really meant to cause trouble or be a hassle, he just tended to act on his thoughts without mentioning that he had been thinking at all, and then the aftermath would be what it was. Akihito’s sure it must be hard on him too, sometimes, but in the current moment he’s not particularly inclined to being generous on Nanase’s part. 

_Where did you go, Nanase?_

Not even a phone call, and the man was notorious for not answering when he didn’t want to. Akihito sighs again, the office phone ringing. He checks social media for updates, hoping that some fan or another has spotted him, just so that Akihito can have a vague knowledge of wherever the hell Nanase is.

Sure enough, there are a few people who have spotted him, scattered between posts about his sudden retirement announcement. He had been at an airport, by the looks of it, and Akihito wonders if he’s going to his old home in Iwatobi. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone there to try and escape, Akihito remembers with a certain sigh.

He calls.

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

He hangs up and calls him again.

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

He might just be on the plane, but Akihito gets the feeling he’s being ignored. 

Frustrated, he says with a snarl into the receiver, “Nanase-kun, call me back as soon as possible! _As soon as possible!_ ”

He hangs up and dials a different number. Behind him, the office phone rings, and he dreads the amount of work he’ll have to do later. Nanase’s sudden decision to retire had been a surprise to everyone, and while he had done them the courtesy of letting them know ahead of time, there was still so much to manage that he needed to be there for. 

And yet, here he was not. Here he was on a plane to who knows where.

Someone picks up the phone.

“Hello? Fukuchi-san?”

“Ah, Tachibana-san, hello.” He puts on his best professional voice, careful to sound calmer than he feels. “I was wondering if you had heard from or seen Nanase-kun recently.”

“Hm? We haven’t seen him recently. Is there something wrong with Haruka-kun?”

“Oh no, no, nothing wrong, really. He made an announcement recently, but if you haven’t seen him, then…”

“An announcement?”

“About his retirement.”

From the other side, there’s a small noise of surprise. Akihito shakes his head disapprovingly. _That Nanase._

“Retirement! Oh my. How surprising...”

He does his best not to mutter his next words. “Yes, it’s quite a surprise for us too.” 

“My...We hadn’t heard from him recently, so I had no idea. Should I call Haruka-kun’s parents? They’re visiting France right now, so I’m not sure about the time, but I can try calling them for you. They might know where Haruka-kun is.”

“Oh no, no, it’s fine. Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”

They chat for a few more minutes before Akihito hangs up, apologizing for the shortness of the call. Leaning back in his chair, he can’t help but feel foolish for not calling Nanase’s parents first, but the Tachibanas _were_ the ones Nanase had put down at the top of his emergency contacts list, his own parents the second number down.

Rather suddenly, Akihito thinks of his wife. Thinks of his daughters. Wonders, not for the first time, why Nanase always seemed to be so much more reserved with his own parents, and feels a little sad, trying to imagine what he would feel if either of his daughters were like that. If they relied more on a family friend than their own family.

He pushes the sentimentality aside and dials another number. Work, he needs to focus on work.

The phone rings, and then,

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_I suppose,_ he thinks dryly, _he does take after his parents in the end_.

He leaves a message, asking for a call if they happen to hear from or see their son. Then he hangs up and dials one last number. 

It rings three times before they pick up the phone.

“Fukuchi-san, hello!”

“Hello, Tachibana-kun. I was wondering if you’d heard from Nanase-kun.”

“Ah, I haven’t heard anything from Haru.”

Akihito holds the phone away from himself and sighs deeply. _Where on earth is he?_

“Fukuchi-san, are you all right? I’m sure it must be busy for you. I saw the news.”

“Haha, I’m fine. Thank you, Tachibana-kun. It is busy, but mostly because Nanase-kun’s not answering his phone.”

From the other side, he hears Tachibana sigh. “Geez, Haru...I don’t know exactly where Haru is, but I’ll be sure to tell him if I see him to call you.”

“Please.” Akihito says, wearier than intended. “Thank you again, Tachibana-kun.”

“It’s no trouble at all! Good luck, Fukuchi-san.”

The call ends.

Makoto Tachibana ― the oldest son of the Tachibana family, the same Tachibana family that was first on Nanase’s contact list ― was the third contact Nanase had provided, many years ago, and over the course of the years that have followed Akihito has met him several times over. He had often been there for Nanase’s competitions, had stayed in a nearby hotel nearly the entire time during Nanase’s first time at the Olympics, and had regularly come to watch him in the subsequent years. He was, according to himself and Nanase, a childhood friend. To Akihito, he was someone who Nanase relaxed around immensely; they were clearly very close. If there was anyone who would know how to contact Nanase, it would probably be him. 

He wonders if they had talked about Nanase’s decision to retire. Tachibana had always been a strong supporter of his career.

The phone’s shrill ring breaks his thoughts, and he answers,

“Hello? Yes, about Nanase-san’s announcement…”

* * *

**_wawawan!_ ** _@wakaiwa1021 · 20s_

_!!!! i saw nanase-san at the airport!! aah_

**_yokoyo_ ** _@koiko0903 · 22s_

_saw the famous swimmer nanase haruka boarding another plane_

**_lukas_ ** _@ruka_co2 · 48m_

_retirement???? say it’s a lie…!_

**_james lloyd_ ** _@james_lloyd01865 · 2h_

_Haruka Nanase retires, good for him_

**_cool.special.STYLE_ ** _@rairaii_chu · 4h_

_link to retirement confirmation?? Anyone??_

**_rockhopper!_ ** _@hazukipen · 7h_

_haru-chan retired??!!!_

**_Swim Everyday!_ ** _@swimfannews · 14h_

_Haruka Nanase has announced his retirement! Thank you for being such an inspiration to all of us! You’ll be a legend forever, @nanase_h !_

* * *

Ryusei Caleb Mizushima cannot believe his luck.

A row down and across the aisle, Haruka Nanase sits on his plane.

As a sports rag writer who usually wrote on controversies for a living, Ryusei knows: this is the chance of a lifetime. Everyone on the planet was currently in a frenzy for a reason _why_ Haruka Nanase was choosing to retire now, at what seemed like a relative peak in his career. The announcement had gone viral instantly, with reporters scrambling all over the place, but if there was one thing that had to be said outside of Haruka Nanase’s swimming, it was that the man was good at keeping quiet and dodging questions.

To Ryusei, that was as good as a confessional. Something heavy, and well worth some investigation. Sure, Nanase was known to be rather unpredictable, but to retire with no explanation save for a single, cryptic sentence? What else could that be but something drastic? Something big, Ryusei is absolutely sure of it ― something that would change everything, would bring him down to a human’s level.

Haruka Nanase’s an enigma, to a lot of the world, Ryusei included. He’s so...Unattached, is a word. Without swimming and some of his known friends, he would almost seem like a spirit rather than a person. He’s never been involved in a scandal, unless you call a slump year a scandal. Which Ryusei had tried to do, but honestly and obviously, that hadn’t worked out. Most athletes had at least one. Nanase had bounced back from his too; he had won gold and kept winning after, so it was a totally moot point.

He leans against his armrest into the aisle, shifting his eyes from his laptop to Nanase. He thinks of the destination of this flight: Haneda Airport, also known as Tokyo International Airport. As far as he recalls, Nanase doesn’t own any property there, only has his home in Iwatobi, and Ryusei holds in a grin. 

_Who is he going to see?_

He debates on paying for internet to do some preliminary research, because he knows there’s plenty about Nanase he doesn’t really remember, and plenty he can find out. 

Pulling open a notepad window to paste information into, he pays for two hours and begins scourging the net, one eye on Nanase all the while. The man isn’t doing anything but sitting, looking bored in the way he does, but Ryusei isn’t taking any chances.

_Let’s see, let’s see…_

Nanase’s social media presence is thin, notably so. He mainly posts pictures on his blog, but most of those pictures aren’t of himself. Almost all of them are of things like beaches, pools, food ― nothing too personal. His most recent post was a week before the announcement, and Ryusei stares at it before deeming it useless to his cause. He does a check to be sure that Nanase doesn’t own any property or have any family in Tokyo, which he doesn’t, at least, as far as anyone knows.

What he _does_ have in Tokyo though, Ryusei finds, is a friend. A familiar face, when Ryusei digs through his brain, that one childhood friend of his he’s mentioned. Warm brown hair, somewhat tall. He thinks he may have seen him in person once, while trying to get an interview with Nanase, but the memory is boggled down with the noise of two dozen other reporters also trying to get an interview.

He searches for more, clicking several links to fansites, bemusedly grateful to obsessive fans. Without them, Nanase really would be quite the mystery man. 

_Makoto Tachibana_ is the name he finds for the face he barely remembers, an old friend of Nanase’s who, it seemed, had been present for nearly every major competition that Nanase had ever participated in. It isn’t too hard to find blurry pictures of him in the stands, of him walking side by side with Nanase down the streets. Most of these pictures are focused on Nanase, but Ryusei still finds enough shots to see the man’s sloping eyes, often accompanied with a soft smile. There are a few pictures, he notes, of fans with Nanase, mentioning that a tall friend of Nanase’s had taken the photo, and with all the other information Ryusei can only assume that they’re talking about this Tachibana. There are even a few interview articles where Nanase mentions him, albeit with only the same words ― a childhood friend, an ex-teammate in high school.

Interesting, interesting. A _friend_.

Ryusei has a thought. He checks Nanase’s dating history.

Nothing. Not a single thing. A suggestion of a relationship with a famous female swimmer a few years back was all that he could find, and even that had been struck down as a baseless rumor. Nanase seemed to answer any question about his love life with a shrug, or an “I’m not interested right now”, “I’m focused on swimming”. 

_Friend, huh,_ Ryusei thinks, a smug smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

It was simply a fact of life that most athletes only had friends that were also athletes, because the schedule was demanding, the rigors of the athletic world incredibly intense. Ryusei knows this intimately. He had quit swimming back in college for those very reasons ― he couldn’t handle the strain on his friendships, his mind, and his body all at once. He’s never really regretted it, save for on quieter nights stewing over articles after several drinks, though he would never let anyone know that he ever regretted it at all.

It takes work, he thinks, typing the name of Nanase’s friend into the search bar, to hold onto a friendship in the outside world, even an old one. A lot of it. 

There isn’t much, unsurprisingly, about Makoto Tachibana. He works at a swim club in Tokyo as an instructor. He has many rave reviews as a teacher, and doesn’t appear to have any personal social media at all. He seems almost absurdly ordinary, in a way that makes Ryusei squint, thinking that there must be something about this man that he can follow, something about this man he can actually see.

After a few more pointed searches, Ryusei finally finds something. It’s small, a video interview snippet, but it’s directly about Nanase, and the best Ryusei is likely to get. The audio is choppy, but he can make out enough. _It’s the body language that counts anyways._

_“...Uhm, yeah...Yeah, I’m really proud of Haru and Rin. They’ve worked really hard to get here, and it’s really amazing to see them like this...Haru’s been my best friend for a long time. I always...Going to go far. It’s great.”_

Poor man looks like he feels incredibly awkward in this interview, which isn’t surprising. But there’s nothing even branching on fake in the way he smiles when he says he’s proud of both “Haru and Rin”.

 _Rin...Rin Matsuoka? He knows Rin Matsuoka too?_ Ryusei thinks, momentarily baffled before recalling that Matsuoka also came from the Iwatobi area. Impressive of this Makoto Tachibana, knowing two Olympians personally, and likely more, if he at all shared their friend group.

More out of curiosity than research, Ryusei looks for Tachibana’s swimming history. He finds a few articles, some times listed, nothing big, but not unremarkable either. He had swam backstroke in high school, with pretty decent times for his age, and that was where his history stopped. Ryusei isn’t particularly surprised, watching the short clip again. The man didn’t seem like the type to go pro, to _want_ to go pro. 

Ryusei doesn’t know this for sure, of course, but he considers himself an excellent judge of character. And his judgement on Tachibana was that the man seemed level, not built for the rough and tumble world of competition. He was a kind teacher, according to his swim club’s reviews, a welcoming person, a caring coach. Literally nothing suggested he was interested in serious competition.

He sneaks another peek at Nanase.

Nothing. He hasn’t even moved. Hasn’t noticed a thing. 

Returning to his work, Ryusei searches for Tachibana’s connection to Matsuoka. Searches for Tachibana’s connections to any other well known swimmers, and finds that the man has connections that most swimming fans would only think of as a pipe dream. There are pictures of him with Matsuoka, albeit fewer than his pictures with Nanase, as well as a few with Ikuya Kirishima, a swimmer currently contracted to the U.S. team. Most of these pictures also feature Nanase, so he may only know them through him, but the idea is noteworthy in itself. He must be someone interesting, to be able to enter their world and leave it at will, or important. Very important. 

_Significant,_ he thinks, another glance Nanase’s way. His last hour runs out, and he looks at all the information he’s gathered, piecing together the article forming in his mind.

_Haruka Nanase’s secret lover, maybe? Or something more dramatic._

If he can find just a little bit more to make it enough, if he can get the information he needs to make it _real_...Then this might be one of the articles of the century. 

_If_ he can get more information. He’s not an outright liar, after all. Just a...An interpreter of limited information. 

Above him, the speakers crackle to life, asking that they prepare for landing.

Landing is a hassle, as it always is, for Ryusei. Packing up his stuff, navigating the crowd, trying to avoid jostling anyone or being jostled. He almost loses Nanase when he’s trying to get his luggage, but luck stays on his side as he spots him entering a cab. Quickly, he waves down his own cab, with a driver who looks amused at his request to follow the cab Nanase’s gotten into. 

“All right.” The driver says, two cars behind Nanase’s.

In the car, he writes a list of questions to ask, should he get the chance. 

_Can you elaborate on your reason for quitting? Is it because you have someone waiting for you? Do you plan on retiring from the sports scene for good? Is there a personal reason for that? Are you looking towards marriage, now? Is that something you’re interested in, now that you have the time?_

“Excuse me sir, but I believe the other cab is stopping.”

“Hm? Oh,” he gathers his things, paying hastily as he watches Nanase exit the other car, “thanks.” 

The cab driver waves goodbye. “Good luck.”

Luggage in one hand, notepad in the other, Ryusei looks around while keeping track on Nanase’s dark blue hoodie. They’re in a somewhat quiet part of Tokyo, largely apartments. They’re nice apartments, from what Ryusei can see, not painfully expensive (for Tokyo, anyhow), but not cheap either. The buildings look clean, as do the streets. Nanase begins walking down the sidewalk rather than entering any of them, and he doesn’t look particularly aimless about it. 

Ryusei waits a minute. He shoves his notepad into his pocket. 

And then he begins to follow Nanase, wherever the man is going. 

He stays a good number of feet behind, stopping once at a vending machine to seem harmless, not that Nanase ever turns around. The man seems oblivious to his surroundings, walking through the world with just his duffel bag, and Ryusei wishes he was easier to get a read on. Wishes he could see his expression, but well, soon enough he’ll be asking questions. As soon as Nanase stops…

...Stops and turns, a neutral look on his face, staring directly at Ryusei. 

Ryusei fakes a smile.

“Excuse me, so sorry,” he starts, his Japanese a little stilted, “but I have to ask, are you Haruka Nanase? The swimmer?”

Nanase doesn’t seem particularly thrown off by him, to his credit. He inclines his head like a nod, and then he speaks, voice surprisingly clear.

“Yes.”

“Wow, amazing!” He takes a step closer. “I’ve been a big fan for a long time! I wasn’t sure when I saw you, but I couldn’t just let this chance slip away either!”

There’s silence, and then Nanase nods again.

“I...See. Thank you.”

“Ah, would you mind signing something for me? Just let me…” 

He pretends to search his body for his notepad before pulling it out, flipping to a free page. 

“This, if you could, then I would be extremely grateful.”

“Sure.” 

He keeps quiet until his pen in Nanase’s hand hits the page, and then asks, “Are you really retiring for good?”

There’s a pause, and then Nanase says, “Yeah.”

“Really? That’s such a shame. You’re an incredible swimmer.”

Nanase shrugs, continues signing. Ryusei continues to play the part of a slightly overzealous fan in his 30s.

“Is there a reason? You’re at that age,” he waves a hand, casually, “anyone waiting for you? Anyone you’ve been waiting for? You know, I got married to my wife at around your age―”

Nanase cuts him off by handing him his notepad, hardly a shift in his demeanor. “Here you go.”

It’s a crisp signature, easy to read and strangely pretty. Ryusei holds back from raising an eyebrow, instead saying, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

He really is a quiet man, Haruka Nanase. All he does is nod again, staring at Ryusei until Ryusei is forced to back off a bit, a slight smile still quirked on his lips. 

“I no longer felt free.” Nanase says, and it takes Ryusei a moment to understand that he’s responding to one of his earlier questions. “That’s all.”

He catches his eyes, and the world hovers still.

Generally, Ryusei considers himself good at getting people to talk, whether it be by overwhelming them or easing his way in. It’s half his job, really, finding ways to get information out of someone. 

But this time, as he stares, locked eye to eye with Haruka Nanase, this time he realizes: it’s impossible. It’s a striking feeling, as if he’s being pulled underwater, the entire world quiet, motionless. The feeling that no matter how hard he tries to push, Nanase will sidestep him with ease, the way water parts when one cuts through it. There will be no conversation. He simply won't allow it.

_Should have gotten more information before asking._

“Ah, is that so? Well,” Ryusei says unaffectedly, holding himself together with practiced ease, “we all have to make choices for ourselves sometimes. I hope you find another career to enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Nanase says, and seems to mean it sincerely. “I appreciate your support.”

“No no, thank you for so many excellent competitions. Supporting Japan the way you have! Incredible.”

Nanase nods again. They pause, waiting to see who will move first.

If there’s anything Ryusei knows, it’s when he’s lost, as loathe as he is to admit it. He grabs his luggage and starts walking again, as if knowing exactly where he wants to go. He has no idea if Nanase buys it, if Nanase had ever bought it, but he’s got at least some pride. 

“Thank you again, Nanase-san!” He calls out over his shoulder, and then pulls out his phone and dials a number, walking until he can turn a corner. It’s then that he chances a glance behind him, but Nanase is nowhere to be seen.

He gets the feeling he’s been had.

His phone begins to ring. He picks up, not really looking at who's calling.

“Ryusei? What the hell man, where are you?”

“Sorry, sorry!” He laughs. “But Yuki, you won’t believe who I just met…What do you think about Haruka Nanase?”

“He’s never done anything, you know that. Most boring Olympian alive. We already have a guy on his retirement announcement.”

“Yeah but see, I was on his plane and I have this theory―”

“You were on his plane?!”

“Yeah and listen, I think he’s got―”

“You _think?_ Did you talk to him?”

“I did a little, I got his autograph. How much do you think this could sell for, by the way? But listen, I’ve got this theory―”

“Nope, no theories. We’re trying to be taken seriously, you know. We don’t want to be another tabloid gossip site.”

“Aw, but Yuki―” 

“No, no theories unless you’ve got good evidence! I know you did rags before, but that's not us. Besides, I have a different thing in mind for you. Renju Yokozawa in the 100 meter butterfly is killing it under Yamazaki’s guidance now. Butterfly was your specialty, right? The article you did last time about it almost went viral. Well, viral for us anyways.”

“Yokozawa? That guy? Really?"

“Yeah, so write about it. More details at the office, promise.”

* * *

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_“Haru-chan, are you really retiring? For good?! I really can’t believe it! What are you going to do now? Are you going to return to the ocean, Haru-chan?! You can’t! Come visit me instead! I’m in California, you know, in America! The beaches here are different than Japan, but I think you’d like them, Haru-chan! Call me back when you get the chance, okay? We haven’t talked in a really really long time!”_

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_“Oi Haru, it’s me. Are you serious? You didn’t even tell me, you jerk! You’re really planning on quit― retiring now?! At least pick up your phone! Geez...If you’ve really thought about this, then...Well, you’re an adult, I guess. It’s your life...I’ll miss beating you out there. I’ll miss seeing you in the next lane...I can’t believe...Ugh, forget it. Remember to call me back, dammit!”_

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_“Nanase-kun! Call me back as soon as possible! As soon as possible!”_

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_“Haruka? It’s Albert. I saw your announcement...Guess it was time for you too, huh? Well, if you need something to do now, I’ve got a spot in my company that I think you’d like. We can catch up, swim a few laps. Practice our English and Japanese, haha. Call me back when you can. Good luck out there. There’s always a lot you figure out about yourself after retiring.”_

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_“Hey Haru, it’s Asahi! Just calling ‘cause I saw that you made the official announcement. You know I support you if this is what you want to do, but...Man, competition won’t be the same without you. How long have you been thinking about this? Did Makoto know before you told the team? I haven’t talked to him recently. You really dropped one on us, you know...Wait, hold on...Ugh, who’s calling me now, of all times...Aggggggh. I’ll call you again later. Why don’t you ever pick up your phone...!”_

_“Hello. The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”_

_“Haruka-senpai, this is Rei. I saw your announcement reported online just now. I must ask...Are you really retiring for good?! It’s such a shock! Your swimming was truly beautiful...To think it won’t be seen by the rest of the world anymore...But if this is what you truly wish to do, then I believe in your decision. As always, Haruka-senpai, I hope you continue to be free. I hope you remain free forever...Ahem. Please call me back at your earliest convenience. I’ll be looking forward to your call.”_

* * *

Makoto swears he locked his door this morning, and yet here it is, unlocked. It’s unsettling.

“That’s odd…” He says to himself, fighting off a small wave of nervousness. This area doesn’t have much crime, and it’s fairly likely that he just forgot to lock his door, but nonetheless, he hesitates before slowly pushing it open, peering into his apartment from the crack.

It appears the same, in the low light of the sunset coming through the windows, but still, he enters cautiously, clutching his bag strap. 

He freezes when he sees a strip of light from the bathroom. Twists the bag strap in his hands, taking a deep breath. 

_It’ll be alright._ He tells himself, _I...Probably just left the light on?_

That is a lie and he knows it. Still, what else can he do but approach the bathroom, hoping desperately that he’s made a mistake?

Steeling himself and hoping it’s nothing, he grips the handle of the bathroom door and bursts in, half-yelling, “Hello?”

Haru sits in his bathtub, naked save for a pair of jammers, and says, “You’re loud, Makoto.”

“Haru?!” 

For a few seconds, all Makoto can do is stare, bewildered. Haru looks completely calm, although Makoto notes the glimmer of amusement in his expression as he stares at him. 

His shoulders drop. He sighs.

“Haru, geez! You scared me.” Feeling foolish, Makoto shakes his head. “When― What― How―”

With the shock wearing off, he’s tongue-tied and confused; Haru’s in his bathtub. The sight is familiar and unfamiliar all at once, reminds him of days back in Iwatobi, of when they were both in college, and the familiarity of it clashes with the fact that Haru has only ever been in this apartment of his a handful of times compared to almost all the rest of the homes he’s ever lived in. 

“I retired.” Haru says simply, as if it’s what he’s made for breakfast and not one of the biggest decisions of his life and career. “So I came here.”

“I―” Autopilot takes over. “Fukuchi-san called me. You should call him back, Haru.”

“My phone died.” Haru says, and Makoto suspects that isn’t totally the truth. Instead of saying so though, he says, with another sigh, “I’ll charge it for you.”

“Thanks.” Haru says, and then sinks into the bathwater, essentially saying the conversation is over. Makoto allows it, relieved and exasperated all in one go, and it’s only then that he sees Haru’s duffel bag on his dining table. He shakes his head again, but there’s a bubble of amusement too, at this turn of events, and as he locks his front door and takes off his shoes ― Haru’s shoes are already there, and now he really feels a bit like an idiot for panicking ― he can’t help but chuckle. 

Somehow, it was just like Haru to do something like this. Makoto wants to ask him why, but he can sense that now isn’t the time, that Haru’s still thinking, though about what, Makoto isn’t totally sure. 

So instead he goes through his evening routine, taking off his own duffel bag and placing it in one of his chairs, shedding his jacket and tossing it onto his couch. He looks through Haru’s bag for his phone, finds it off and sighs. _I’m sorry, Fukuchi-san._

Still, he takes it into his room and plugs it into his charger. The screen lights up, showing fourteen percent, now charging. His own phone is at sixty, and he figures it’ll be fine for a while.

At ease, now, he leans back into the bathroom.

“Have you eaten dinner already?” 

Haru pops from the water, shaking his head. “No. No time.”

“I’ve got some leftover curry, if you want.” 

“Sounds good.”

At that, Makoto turns around and starts on dinner. He’s got rice already, having made it earlier that morning, and heats the curry up in the microwave. There’s not really enough for more than one person, he realizes, and given the portions Haru is probably used to by now, he’ll likely be eating all of it, not that Makoto really minds. He goes back to the fridge and pulls out some crispy chicken he bought the other day alongside some of the side dishes he got from the grocery store a few days ago. The side dishes he puts on the table as they are, tossing the chicken into a frying pan to heat it up.

He’s pretty good at this by now, having done it often enough, though he still usually ends up burning at least one piece of chicken on the way. He can’t cook all that well, and he sort of doubts he ever will, but at least he can say he tries.

Haru comes out of the bathroom when he’s pulling the curry out of the microwave, and Makoto wonders just how long he’s been here. It wasn’t really like him to get out quickly, no matter the circumstance, and Makoto heavily doubts that will ever change. Haru is the sort to plan out how to spend at least thirty minutes in the bathtub, even if his schedule is beyond packed, it’s practically a documented fact. 

“Makoto,” Haru says, “It’s burning.”

“Eh?” He turns, curry in hand, and sure enough, his chicken is starting to smoke a little bit. “Ahh, just―”

Haru takes the spatula from the side of the stove and shuffles things around, turning the heat down as he does so. The sight of it ― Haru in his jammers, hair still dripping, looking at his stove in concentration ― twists something hard in Makoto’s heart. 

He turns back to the curry and sets it near the rice cooker. He pulls out a bowl from his cupboards and says, “Thank you, Haru.”

It’s only then, after he gets a minute, that he turns to smile at Haru directly, gesturing to his rice cooker. “You want to switch? I’m not really sure how much rice you want…”

 _A normal amount,_ says Haru’s face, but Makoto thinks that their definitions of _a normal amount_ must be different by now. It comes across, because Haru takes the rice paddle from him, though not without a look of vague dissatisfaction at having to do so. Makoto does his part and slides over to the stove, looking over it once before turning off the heat. He trusts Haru’s sense for these things.

Haru nudges him.

“Here.” He says, holding the rice paddle out. It’s with a bit of satisfaction that Makoto finds himself right; Haru had taken far more rice than his version of _a normal amount_ , though he had, Makoto notes, left a decent amount for him too. 

_It’s good I made so much,_ Makoto thinks. Making rice in bulk is one of the few things he’s learned about cooking, and it’s never done him wrong.

“Thanks, Haru.”

Haru inclines his head, and then turns, taking his food to the table. Makoto serves himself in the meanwhile, takes his time directing his chicken out of the pan onto a bed of rice. One piece bounces off the top onto the counter, but he ignores it until the rest is in the bowl, then picks it up and tosses it into his mouth. 

It’s warm and slightly salty, and the texture is near perfect. The edges have crisped up again just enough to be good.

“Makoto.”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Where do you keep your spoons?”

At that, Makoto can’t help but laugh. Haru sounds pretty thrown off, and when he turns to look at him he can see that Haru’s gotten up, a look of determination at one of his drawers. 

“Here, Haru.” Makoto says, opening the drawer to his left and pulling out two spoons and, as an afterthought to the other dishes on the table, two sets of chopsticks. “That one is for towels.”

Haru doesn’t say anything, but the turn of his head has always been one of his biggest tells. Makoto holds in another laugh.

“Let’s eat?” He says, and Haru nods, quickly returning to his seat at the table. 

He was hungry, Makoto notes, eating slowly, trying to figure out what exactly Haru is...Well, doing. It’s been hardly a day since that announcement, and Makoto can only imagine the number of things he should be dealing with, but instead he’s here. He’s eating Makoto’s leftover curry as if it’s one of his few days off and he’s come to visit, and not...Not the day after his retirement, essentially. It feels silly. It also feels very Haru, and Makoto watches him with a fondness that he hasn’t felt in a while, all his other thoughts eclipsed by the warmth pooling in his chest.

“Haru―” He starts, only for Haru to catch his eyes.

There’s something to be said in the way they have never really lost the ability to communicate through glances, no matter how long it’s been. In the moment Haru looks at him, Makoto feels an understanding, and his words swivel a different direction.

“―You should really call Fukuchi-san back.” 

Haru does not pout. They’re both a little old for that. But he does look at him with that annoyed expression of his that Makoto realizes he’s missed seeing, and says, “I will. Later.”

“You should do it tonight.” Makoto says, “He was worried about you.”

Haru continues to frown, but Makoto knows that Haru knows what he should do, and he knows that Haru will do it. So he lets it go.

He wants to ask, _what are you going to do now?,_ but he gets the feeling that Haru doesn’t particularly want to answer that question. That Haru doesn’t really have an answer to that question, not yet. He wants to ask, _why here?_ , but that’s weighted with things he’d rather not think about right this second, would rather not overthink. He wants to ask, _are you sure?_ , but he knows the look of resolve Haru has when he’s made a decision he’s sure about, the way he carries himself, and all of that is here in front of him. 

So instead he says, “What do you want to do tomorrow? I’ve got work in the afternoon.”

Haru pauses from eating, then, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I’m...Going to be busy.” Haru says, as if really, fully realizing that for the first time, and Makoto holds in a sigh.

He believes that Haru has thought this through, that he firmly decided that he wanted to retire. He also believes that Haru hasn’t really thought through beyond that, not about all the things that came following retirement, all the ends that needed to be tied. Maybe a little, but with how Fukuchi-san had sounded over the phone, Makoto doubts that Haru had really anticipated the number of things he was still involved in, post-career.

Knowing Haru, he had likely been thinking about whether he wanted to retire for a while, though Makoto doesn’t remember Haru even mentioning it. He guesses ― no, he _knows_ ― that this must have been a decision Haru had thought hard about, and then when he had decided, he had wanted to say so as soon as possible. He can’t help but wonder if the words had come out of Haru before Haru could even think about the time and place, but it’s not the time to ask, and he doesn’t even know where to begin. So instead, he puts it away to the back of his mind for later, for a better time when he’s had a chance to think about what he wants to ask and how.

“Well, you can use my bed then. I’ll lend you pajamas.” He eats a bit more, savoring the crisp on the chicken. The unspoken, _I’ll sleep on the couch,_ bounces back and forth between their eyes, with Makoto taking no room for argument, not this time. 

“...Thanks.” Haru says, and Makoto smiles. The words _it’s no problem_ , and _you’re always welcome here_ , and _feel free to stay for as long as you need_ hover in the air, the sentiments conveyed in a glance. 

“Do you remember Kiyoteru-kun? He’s one of my students―”

“―I remember.” 

“Ah, I’m glad. You know, he’s really been improving lately…”

* * *

_"Makoto-senpai, are you home? Makoto-senpai?”_

_“...Rei.”_

_“M― Makoto-senpai, you look― What...What happened?”_

* * *

A week and a half after his retirement announcement, Haruka Nanase purchases an apartment near the ocean, about an hour away from Tokyo by train. It’s along a quiet beach, one that only the locals of the area really go to, given the larger beach a few miles away. There are bigger, more commercial beach houses and apartments in that direction, more luxurious types with modern style sensibilities, but it’s clear that Haruka Nanase is a man who values his privacy and doesn’t care much for luxury, apart from an enormous bathtub. It’s an apartment he accepts only after a painstaking search, one that Yukari Orihara went through because he’s a completely unexpected client to get, and his budget is through the roof. 

She’s worked with famous individuals before, but none with the personality or the degree of fame that Haruka Nanase has. His initial requests had been reasonable ― somewhere private, somewhere near a beach near the Tokyo area, and somewhere the press wouldn’t really be able to bother him much ― all of that was understandable. They were common demands from richer clients, more public clients, and she had prepared a number of apartments that fit that criteria fairly quickly.

The hard part, the part that had been painstaking about Nanase-san’s house search ― the hard part had been all his little eccentricities. His requests for a gas stove, tatami, a traditional style apartment in a modern area, all of that had been difficult. It had taken her quite a while to find any apartment that even had some of those things, and she knows for fact that Nanase-san had ended up making some concessions anyways. 

She’s grateful that he’s not a loud man, that he’s not the angry sort ― she’s had clientele like that before, and they were often the worst to deal with ― but at the same time, he had been much more.. _.Challenging_ than she had expected, when he had first contacted her to ask about possible properties. Especially given how quickly he had wanted to move ― within a week! ― but then again, she supposes he _had_ paid a great deal for that privilege without complaint at the price.

To be honest, Yukari isn’t much of a sports person. She knows his name ― how could she not, given his records ― but other than that, she doesn’t know much about what the rest of the world knows of Haruka Nanase. All she knows is that he’s a particular sort of man with particular tastes, an old soul, or something like that. He doesn’t seem unkind, nor prideful or smug, which she deeply respects, given his range of wealth and fame, but it is clear to her that he’s different. 

He’s...Thoughtful, she supposes. A bit awkward. Quiet. Not a man she would necessarily think of as a world record holder at a glance.

Not that it matters, of course. As long as he’s willing to pay the price and not cause too much trouble to the building, it’s really none of her business what he seems like.

 _Besides,_ she thinks _, he has that one friend of his._ The tall man with the warm smile, upturned eyebrows. The one who had come by with Nanase-san a few times for a few apartments, to give a second opinion, something like moral support.

Something about that man had made Nanase-san seem more...Human, is the first word that comes to mind, though Yukari finds it rude. It wasn’t like he felt inhuman, or anything of the sort, but he was rather hard to read when alone. When his friend had been around ― _Makoto...Tachikawa, was it?_ ― he had been easier to understand at a glance, his expressions clearer, his moods more open.

Thinking back on it, she can’t help but smile.

_I should call Ayano and see if she’s free later._

First though, she has to sort out the rest of this paperwork, and contact Nanase-san to give him his keys. The apartment has finally been cleaned, and he had bought it pre-furnished, so...All that’s left is for the man himself to make it a home.

She picks up her office phone, careful to dial the number on the paper in front of her. 

“Hello? Nanase-san? This is Orihara Yukari speaking…”

* * *

**_Haruka Nanase’s Retirement??_ **

_Replies: 53_

_Views: 202_

**_jackstroke:_ ** _Speaking as a longtime fan, I think he’s taking a break, not true retirement. He’ll be back and better than ever I bet...Pressure might have gotten to him recently._

 **_swimminfanatica:_ ** _anyone think he might have an injury? He had that scare with his knee a couple years ago, could it have gotten worse??_

 **_vinnybreast:_ ** _@swimminfanatica I doubt it. he came back in perfect condition, remember? came in third in that one competition, then killed it at the Olympics. he probably just thought it was time_

 **_dsjklgjk*:_ ** _f*** nanase he cheats his form is s**t_ _  
_ **_*this user is banned_ **

**_Alec pince:_ ** _hes always been kind of odd, dont you think?? his interviews never make any sense to me_

 **_freestylefan:_ ** _he’s a free spirit, lol. that’s why he likes freestyle the most. maybe he found something else he wants to do_

 **_jojo tormal:_ ** _i dunno to me he seems 2 love swimming more than breathing u know what i mean ?_

 **_allison E:_ ** _He’s getting older. There are some new guys coming up on his times, and he’s gotten a little slower recently. Some of his fans are swimming with him now, maybe that made him feel like it was time to stop? We all know about Eiji Nakamura’s recent incredible performance, right? Maybe it’s weird for him._

 **_froggywaves:_ ** _wonder what he’s going to do now that he’s done with swimming_

 **_crowe owen:_ ** _I agree with @allison E. He’s getting older. Better to quit while he’s still remembered at his peak then crash when his body starts giving out. Just watch, someone will catch up to his times in a year or two._

 **_poppinzak:_ ** _hard to imagine that with his insane bests....his best time for 100m free is still better then anyone in the game right now_

 **_eddie987:_ ** _eventually someone will catch up though, thats a sport for you_

* * *

Haru’s new apartment is nice, to put it lightly. It comes with a large living room that connects to a kitchen with a bar, a giant bathroom with a tub that might as well be a small pool, two master-sized bedrooms and a smaller study. The balcony connects to the living room and overlooks the coast, holding a small table and two wicker chairs, a soft sea breeze ever present. It’s vaguely reminiscent of Iwatobi, though there’s a difference that can’t be placed, the smell or the sound or the feel, Makoto isn’t totally sure.

It’s practically a house, honestly. It’s pretty much the penthouse of the building, in fact.

The one odd thing about it, about Haru choosing it ― the one odd thing was the second bedroom. For whatever reason, Haru had been dead set on having two bedrooms of the same size. He had said it was for guests, when the real estate agent had asked him why, but Makoto had gotten the sense that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. When he had asked him about it though, Haru had looked at him and said essentially the same thing, a low undercurrent of not wanting to explain further, and so Makoto had shrugged it off and accepted the answer for what it was. 

What space did he have to protest, really, if that was what Haru wanted? It was his money to spend, what he had earned through his own hard work. As long as he wasn’t doing anything dangerous...Though he knows without a doubt that Haru would never get involved in anything like that. 

It was just…

...He shakes his head and stares out his window, holding a lukewarm cup of tea.

A lot has changed, since their time in university. It’s a blessing, Makoto knows, that they still have the connection they have, that Haru had made time for him while entering that world, that Haru had willingly held on, just as he had. That they had managed through phone calls and texts, brief visits during holidays, emails, Haru’s bigger competitions. 

Makoto still remembers traveling, the nervous flight, fumbling his words, stuttering his way through the crowds to see him. Remembers being in the stands, almost overwhelmed by the noise and the energy, remembers watching him. Remembers watching him swim beautifully, the epitome of what Haru was in the water, remembers watching him win, remembers the hot wave of pride that had crashed against him, stinging, enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Knowing that Haru had gone out into the world, just as he had believed he could, how he had grabbed onto it with all his strength and flown, flourished ― in that moment, Haru had been his pride and joy. Even now, Makoto thinks so, his fingers pressing tightly against the cup in his hands. Even now.

But it had been sad, too. 

It had been the moment that Makoto had felt, with a ringing clarity that had caused him to cry, later that night alone in his hotel room, that Haru had gone far beyond him, to a place Makoto could never really be. He had cried for a reason he couldn’t name, a feeling he couldn’t place, a sense of loss he didn’t understand. 

He was so proud. He would never not be.

But something else in him had grieved. The small part of him, the part of him that he had never really escaped, the ghost of his child self ― it had grieved, something nameless. Bigger than he had ever thought.

He sets his cup on the table, rolling it in his palms a little. The tea inside ripples, sloshing gently against the sides of the ceramic.

It’s something he’s never told anyone about, that night. It was a night he kept close to the chest, locked away in a box where some things went, fishermen and goldfish, the thing in the water.

That same year, he had moved in with Rumiko.

He still thinks about her, sometimes. Wonders if she’s doing well, if she’s gone on to be the physical therapist she wanted to be, if she’s happy, wherever she is. He hopes so. 

He had hurt her. He had hurt her deeply, and he’s never forgiven himself for it. She had hurt him too, then, had left a wound that had taken a long time to heal over, but when Makoto thinks of that day, the day she left him, what he remembers more than his own heartbreak is the look that had been on her face. A look he will never forget. 

The tremble of her voice. The anger, and the pain, and the way she had looked him in the eyes and forced him to tell her a painful truth, knowing it would hurt the both of them to hear.

It could have been better. It could have been different. Maybe they could have still been friends, at least, could have stayed in touch with each other, could have laughed together again, _could have._

But it was what it was, and he’s dwelled on it for a long time.

The wind through his window waves his curtains, the little chime he had been given by Ren and Ran a few years back jingling, melodious white noise.

Haru knocks, then opens the front door, and Makoto smiles his way. 

“Hey, Haru! How was Fukuchi-san?”

* * *

_Let’s break up, Makoto-kun.”_

_“...W-what? Why?”_

_“Because you don’t love me.”_

_“I―”_

_“―Don’t! Don’t you dare! You don’t love me, Makoto-kun. I don’t― I don’t know if you ever have.”_

_“Of course I do! I― Rumi― Rumiko, what―”_

_“―You don’t understand. You don’t understand, and I wish― I wish I could keep pretending that you loved me the way I want you to. I wish I could keep pretending that you loved me at all. But I can’t.”_

_“Rumiko...”_

_“You’re kind, Makoto-kun, and you care so much that it hurts. But that doesn’t mean you love me.”_

_“...”_

_“You know, Makoto-kun, I really liked you, when we first met. So much that I thought that maybe...If we spent enough time together...That maybe if we spent enough time together, you’d come to like me in the same way. But you never really did, and I― I can’t keep doing this. I can’t stay with you anymore.”_

_“...Rumiko, I’m...I’m sorry. I…”_

_“Do you know what you’re sorry for, Makoto-kun? Do you understand anything I’m trying to say?”_

_“I…”_

_“If you think about it, if you really think about me ― how do you feel? Were you ever in love with me? Did you ever even like me as more than a friend?”_

_“...I...”_

_“Makoto-kun, you don’t really know what love is, do you? You don’t know what it means to be in love with anyone. You don’t know at all.”_

_“...That’s…”_

_“Or maybe you do and you don’t even realize it. But you never loved me. You were never in love with me. And I can’t…I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t want to pretend anymore. So let’s break up, Makoto-kun. Please.”_

_“...If that’s how you feel, then―”_

_“―It’s not about how I feel, Makoto-kun! It’s about how you feel! It’s about what you don’t feel!”_

_“...”_

_“I― I’m leaving. I’m...I’ll come back tomorrow to get my stuff. I’m sorry.”_

_“Rumiko―!”_

* * *

“Let’s go running, Makoto.”

“Eh?” 

The egg he’s just fried slips off his fork, flops back into the pan yolk-side down, not that it matters. Makoto’s never managed to get the yolk the right kind of runny ― he always cooks it too long or short, to the point where most of it gets grainy or is soppy. Sometimes he manages a soft middle, but that’s usually his best, not his usual.

“Wait, Haru,” Makoto sets the fork down on a plate, as well as the piece of toast he had been holding in his other hand. “Running? Now?”

“...After you eat.” Haru says, with just smallest amount of remorse.

“Uhm,” Makoto blinks, then nods, “sure.”

He moves his egg onto his toast and pushes the sausages out of the pan onto the plate, taking it all to the table where Haru’s already sitting, still looking a little awkward.

“Do you want something to drink, Haru?” Makoto asks, turning back around to open his fridge, “I have tea.”

Instead of answering, he hears Haru get up from the table and open his cupboards, grabbing a glass and filling it with tap water. Makoto listens to the whole thing with a vague feeling that might be amusement, remembering how Haru had been mildly annoyed during the first week he had stayed over, trying to memorize Makoto’s kitchen. It hadn’t taken him long to work out where everything was, but it had been cute, in a way, watching Haru figure it all out.

He pulls out a bottle of tea and returns to the table. Haru has swiped one of his sausages, though he acts as if nothing has changed. 

Makoto chooses not to comment on it. He just smiles broadly at him, to which Haru turns his head slightly, and the whole thing fills him with the kind of warmth that makes him laugh a little, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“If you were hungry, you could have just told me, Haru.” 

“I ate before I came over.” Haru says, adding, “Mackerel.”

 _Some things really don’t change,_ Makoto thinks, laughing for real now. Haru cracks a smile back. There’s an amiable silence between them, brief glances but nothing more, and Makoto tries to eat quickly, because he can see the way Haru shifts, the barebones of impatience beginning to show.

Still he has to ask, 

“You want to go running, Haru?” He takes another bite, finishing the rest of the sausages. “Here?”

Haru nods, and Makoto warms again, that Haru wants to go running with him when he could be running along the beach by his apartment instead.

“It’s nice over here,” Haru says, completely sincere, and Makoto is glad to hear it.

“Let me get dressed.” He’s still in his pajamas. “Then we can go.”

Fifteen minutes later, Makoto’s dressed in an old t-shirt, thin jacket, and jogging shorts, tugging on his sneakers. Haru waits outside, patient as Makoto locks his door and shoves his keys deep into his pocket.

“Is there anywhere you want to go?” Makoto asks, “Or do you just want to run along the sidewalk for a while?”

“The sidewalk’s fine.” Haru says, and Makoto nods. They start running after they get downstairs, an easy pace to follow, though Makoto’s sure that Haru could go faster if he wanted to. 

The morning is nice and quiet, with a cool breeze. Cherry blossom season is nearly over, but there are still a few strays, petals and flowers hanging onto the trees, other flowers blooming around them.

For a while, they simply run side by side, the sounds of their breath and the morning fading into the air. Makoto feels nostalgic when he glances to the side and sees Haru focused on the road in front of them, something warm and comfortable circling in his chest.

“Haru, do you mind if we go somewhere?” He pauses, then adds, “It’s not too far from here.”

Haru shakes his head. “I don’t mind.” 

Makoto smiles, then. 

“Great!” 

They run for twenty more minutes, with Makoto leading them, turning until they’re closer to the city. It’s not that busy in this area, not at this time of day, but they do end up dodging a couple of people walking their dogs, other people in general. 

Haru starts to look around when they get closer, turning his head to observe the buildings, the streets. They’re almost there when he says, “This looks familiar.”

“Aw, Haru,” Makoto says, stopping in front of the building, “you figured it out!”

It’s his workplace, currently closed as it always is this day of the week. He’s brought Haru here before, but that had been the route by train, not by foot. He had hoped that Haru wouldn’t realize it, with the difference, but well, it _was_ Haru. 

It’s a bit disappointing, but with Haru’s memory for bodies of water, he supposes that he should have expected it.

 _It’s closed,_ says Haru’s stare, with a great bit of disappointment directed at the sign. 

Makoto grins, pulling out his keys.

“You know, I got a promotion.” He says, to which Haru turns to look at him sharply. “It happened a couple of weeks ago. You were really busy, it seemed like, so I didn’t want to bother you with it, but now that we’re here…”

To be wholly honest, it’s a bit of a promotion and a bit of a gift. The owners of this swim club are somewhat aloof, but they treat their long-term staff incredibly well. Makoto’s worked his way up here, part-time to full-time, with dozens of smaller jobs in between ― he wouldn’t change anything about it. He’s been lucky, really, to end up the way he has. To get to fulfill his dream without ever having to really give it up.

“I was given a copy of the main key.”

 _Well what are you waiting for,_ Haru says without saying, and Makoto laughs while opening the door. Haru slips in while Makoto follows, locking the door behind him. He can’t let just anyone in when they’re supposed to be closed, after all.

When he turns back around, Haru’s nowhere to be seen, but Makoto knows where he’s gone and takes off after him, the carnage apparent in the jacket on the floor, the shirt, shoes, socks, pants.

“Still wearing a swimsuit under his clothes, huh…” He mutters, but he’s deeply amused, especially as he hears the echo of a splash.

Grabbing Haru’s clothes from the floor, he stacks them messily on top of one of the benches in the locker room. For himself, he opens his staff locker and pulls out his spare pair of swim trunks ― rarely needed, but deeply appreciated when called for ― and changes clothes.

He knows he’ll end up swimming. That he’ll definitely want to, if it’s with Haru. 

_It’s been a while_ , he thinks, moving towards the pools, _since it was just the two of us._

Haru’s form in the water is beautiful, as always. For a moment, he just stands in the doorway and watches, absorbed in the sight of it, of Haru in his element. 

_Kiyoteru would love to see this,_ Makoto thinks.

He was such a big fan of Haru. A tiny laugh escapes him, imagining his reactions.

Haru pops from the water then, shaking his head a few times before directing his gaze onto Makoto, as if saying, _well?_

Makoto smiles and, after a moment, dives in.

The water is cool against his bare skin, and he shivers when he breaks the surface, the chill of it rippling through his body. It’s a brief second, one he’s quick to adjust to, especially as Haru swims next to him, a smile his face. 

They swim mirrored underwater, finding a matching pace, and it’s while Makoto holds Haru’s gaze and swims beside him that he feels truly, deeply connected to him. He feels a sense of peace within him that he’s never found anywhere else, with anyone else, and it’s something he thinks Haru feels too, when he looks at him, how he holds his gaze and lets Makoto in, allowing himself to be seen, allowing Makoto into his heart. 

Here, where both of them glide featherlight in the water, hovering in time, streaks of gold from the sun ― here, where they can simply _be_. Truest to themselves without anything between them.

All too soon he has to break for air, and Haru follows him up. They tread water for a bit, until Makoto moves to pull himself up and out of the pool. He sits on the edge, feet swirling in the water, while Haru stays close, content to float. The quiet between them is calm and serene, with only the vague echo of Haru in the water around them, Makoto’s legs causing small ripples. 

“Ahh,” Makoto says, and thinks that somehow, it’s easier to breathe, “swimming with you really is the best, Haru.”

Haru makes a noise of acknowledgement, eyes closed, at ease. 

“...Hey, Haru.” He begins, looking at the water, the ripples.

If he doesn’t ask now, he feels as if there may not be another chance for a long time.

“Why did you retire?”

The world seems to still. Haru’s eyes open, and he drifts closer, looking up into Makoto’s eyes, keeping them there.

There are worlds in those eyes, Makoto thinks, endless.

“I no longer felt free.” Haru says, and somehow, it’s different than the other times, different from when he first read the words. This time, Makoto thinks he understands, at least to a degree, what Haru means when he says that.

He’s always known that for Haru, swimming, the water ― they mean something unique to him, something that no one else really can understand but Haru himself. Makoto has tried, and he thinks he can at least conceptualize what those things might mean to Haru, even if he doesn’t understand it fully. What he can understand is that for Haru, they’re meaningful in a specific way, in a way that ties directly to Haru’s self, and for Makoto, that understanding, over time, has become enough. That there are things he might never be able to understand, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try, doesn’t mean he can’t support him anyways, doesn’t mean he can’t understand all the rest.

“Makoto.” Haru says, and then, “I...Want to explain it. But I can’t.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“...Not yet?”

“Not yet.” Haru’s gaze is straightforward. “But I will.” 

Makoto has always been given strength from that gaze, and so he nods and says, “All right, Haru.”

The quiet returns, and then Makoto asks,

“...Did you get to fulfill your dream?”

At that, Haru seems surprised, which surprises Makoto. He considers it, and Makoto can only hope the answer is yes.

There’s a long pause as Haru mulls it over. 

“...Yes.” 

Haru finally says, and then smiles, teeth showing. “I did.”

It’s such a genuine look of happiness that Makoto beams in return. 

“That’s good...!” 

Joy bubbles up inside him. Haru, who had struggled so much to find a dream…Knowing that he’s fulfilled it, that sets him at ease, something unsettled inside him made right. 

“What about you?” Haru asks, and Makoto blinks, confused. “Your dream.”

At that, he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Of course!” He answers, feeling light. “What I get to do now, what my life is like now...It’s really rewarding. I’m very happy.”

He chuckles, feet kicking in the water a little harder. “You know Haru, I’ve kind of realized recently...Dreams change a lot, and more of them come and go. I’ve fulfilled one of my dreams, and I’m really happy about it! But…”

“But?” Haru says, and Makoto looks up at the ceiling, where the blue sky is clear through the skylights, bright and wide and waiting.

“But I think that there’s more that I want to do. I’m happy with my career, but...There’s a lot of life to live, you know? And I haven’t really gotten the rest of it figured out yet.”

At twenty-six years old, Makoto still wonders if he’s living right, if he’s doing enough. If there’s not something more that he should be doing, should be seeking, _should be_. 

But he’s gotten better at facing it. At looking at who he is without fear.

He turns back to Haru, who’s staring at him with clear eyes. “But I think I’ll work it all out eventually. Everything that I want to do. So whatever you want to do now, Haru...” 

He stirs the water again, “I think as long as you want to do it, it’ll be okay.”

A long look passes between them. Makoto thinks a single word, _Haru_.

“...I know that.” Haru says, his eyes sliding away, but Makoto catches the slight flush on his cheeks. He chooses not to comment on it, only smiles wider as Haru mumbles, “...Thank you, Makoto.”

“It’s nothing,” he answers, content down to his bones, “Haru-chan.”

“Still using ‘-chan’...” Haru mutters, and Makoto laughs. He pulls the rest of his body out of the water and crouches down to lend Haru a hand. 

Haru reaches out and grabs it, his palm warm and familiar.

“...Not yet.”

There’s a loud splash, and then a whine.

“Haru!”

* * *

**_New Interview with Haruka Nanase!_ **

_Though Nanase still won’t elaborate on what he meant by his retirement statement three months ago ( “I no longer felt free” ), he will say what he’s doing lately, now that he doesn’t have to adhere to the strict schedule of a professional athlete._

_“I’m catching up with some friends,” he says, “I’ve missed a lot of moments in their lives.”_

_The retired freestyle specialist then added that he’s been trying to return to some of his older hobbies, such as drawing and cooking. Notably, he mentioned that he was thinking of going back to university, though he emphasized that the idea was still very much up in the air._

_“I want to relax for a while first.” He had said, then added, causing laughter, “Take a long bath.”_

_Having moved to Tokyo instead of back into his family home, we can only guess that Haruka Nanase does have plans for the rest of his life, once he gets in all the rest and relaxation he desires. When asked, “Why Tokyo?”, he had said that he had “good memories” of living there as a college student, and wanted to spend more time experiencing the city at a relaxed pace._

_Many retired athletes find the shift from the grueling training timetables of the professional world to the average, far less structured day jarring, but when asked, Nanase says it’s a welcome change, as much of an adjustment as it is._

_“It’s difficult in some ways. But I’m enjoying it.”_

_Perhaps that change is related to what Nanase meant by his cryptic retirement statement, but for now, that’s only our speculation._

* * *

Makoto opens the door to Haru’s apartment, guessing correctly that it’s unlocked. He shuffles off his shoes and sets them to the side before calling,

“Haru?”

No answer, but Makoto hears water running in the bathroom and moves, confused. It’s a bit odd for Haru to take a bath in the middle of the day, especially when they had made plans.

 _Maybe he forgot?_ Makoto wonders, opening the bathroom door. 

“Haru, did you― Wah!”

In Haru’s bathroom is a cat. It’s an average sized cat, white with black and brown spots, and it mirrors Makoto’s surprise, wide yellow eyes at being caught with a paw on the sink faucet.

“What―” Makoto begins, moving closer. “What are you doing?”

The cat doesn’t seem wary of him, even as he gets closer. On the contrary, it returns to messing with the sink handles, brief moment of surprise over. It’s not until Makoto’s close enough to turn off the sink that it turns to stare at him again, as if mildly offended.

“Uhm,” Makoto says, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

 _It’s not wearing a collar,_ Makoto notes, _so it’s probably a stray?_

Maybe it got in through the door when he wasn’t paying attention? It’s possible, knowing how cats are.

“But this is the top floor…” Makoto mutters to himself, thoroughly confused. The cat stares at him, even dares to gently bat at his hand still on the sink handle ― it’s actually really cute. Makoto can’t help but give in and turn the sink back on slightly, letting water trickle out. 

The cat seems satisfied by that. It proceeds to sit halfway in the sink, front paws and head able to get wet if it stretches out, which it does. Makoto laughs at the sight, delighted despite his confusion.

“Makoto.”

He turns, letting go of the sink, and there’s Haru in the doorway, apron on and mildly amused. 

“There you are, Haru! I heard water running, so I thought you were in here, but instead there’s this cat!” 

Makoto gestures to the cat, who doesn’t move from its place in the sink. It does pull away from the water though, turning its head until it can stare at Haru, who stares back. 

They look at each other, neither of them wavering. Makoto realizes he’s holding his breath and tries to discreetly stop doing so.

Suddenly―

“―I adopted her.” Haru says, and then shifts his attention back to Makoto. “Lunch is almost done.”

“Eh?” Makoto blinks, then exclaims, “You adopted her?! Since when?”

“A couple of days ago.” Haru says, and then he turns out the doorway. Makoto follows with one last glance towards the cat, who has started batting at the water casually.

“Ah, the sink―!”

“Leave it.” Haru calls, turning into his kitchen, “It’s fine.”

“It’s wasting water…” Makoto mutters, though he does hesitate before reaching over to turn the sink off. The cat stares at him, and he feels as if he’s being judged before she jumps off the counter to the floor, stepping past him to follow Haru, or maybe to follow the smell of grilled fish. Either way, Makoto soon follows suit, taking a look around the apartment as he does so.

It’s been a week since he’s last been here, but not much has changed, at least, as far as he can tell. There are a couple of new things scattered around, most noticeably a few cat toys, but also a sketchbook on the living room table next to an empty bowl. Aside from that, the miniature ship that Haru had been building when he last saw him now sits next to his television, fully crafted, an odd metal sculpture that Makoto doesn’t dare get close to, lest he break it somehow. 

He turns into the kitchen.

“What’d you make, Haru?” 

“Mackerel.” 

He tries to hide his exasperation. Haru turns, giving him a particular sort of look that suggests he’s not pleased by it. 

“There’s soup too.” He says, and then turns back to the stove with a note of finality.

He’s about to ask if there’s anything he can do when the cat wanders into the kitchen and he asks instead, “What’s her name?”

Haru is silent. It’s somewhat foreboding somehow, the sizzle of fish and nothing else.

“...Aji.” He finally says, looking back once, as if expecting something.

For a minute, it doesn’t click. 

_Aji?_

He thinks about it, and then―

“―Haru, _no._ ” He gapes, and Haru doesn’t say anything. 

“A fish?” Makoto says, incredulous, “You named a cat after a fish?”

“She likes it.” Haru says, and Makoto moves closer so he can look him in the eyes and fully express how silly he thinks naming a cat named after a kind of fish is. Haru meets his eyes without shame. It’s a long conversation packed into a stare, one that ends with Makoto conceding with a sigh.

“Aji, huh…” He looks down at her. “I guess it’s better than calling her _saba_ …”

Her head lifts at _saba_. Makoto laughs at that, unable to help himself, and bends down to try and pet her head. She lets him after a brief sniff, rubbing her head against his hand, tail swishing.

“She was by the ocean.” Haru says behind him. “She liked to sit on the rocks.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Makoto says, rubbing behind her ear. She nudges his hand around, her nose cold against his palm. “It’s good that Haru picked you up, huh.”

Haru doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns, passing Makoto a plate. There’s a brief silence as the final touches of their meal come together, and then Makoto says, “So what have you been doing lately?”

He already sort of knows. Haru’s been busy with odds and ends of his retirement, refusing offers to be a coach or a trainer, advertisements, but that’s not what he means when he asks, and he can see Haru pause to consider the question before answering.

“Swimming,” is what he eventually replies, and Makoto shakes his head. He knows competitive is different then leisure, but at the same time...Of course. Of course that would be what Haru was doing.

A thought occurs to him. “In the ocean?”

(Does panic seep into his voice? The idea of Haru in the ocean alone. Surrounded by the deep.)

“...Yes.”

Tug-of-war pulls at his heart.

“Only during the day.” Haru says, as if sensing his thoughts. He looks guilty anyways, which adds to the swirl of his feelings. “Not for long.”

“If you wanted to swim, then you could have called me.” He replies, “Alone in the ocean isn’t safe, you know that, Haru.”

He sighs. “I...You know that, and I trust you, but…”

“I needed to think.” He speaks quietly, though he still looks guilty, “The ocean was the right place. It needed to be there.”

That’s a rare way of putting it. It’s not often that Haru feels a need to specify what water to sink into, and it rattles him further. 

He asks before he thinks, “Why?”

Aji brushes against their feet. Haru is silent for what feels like a long time.

“...It reminds me.” He eventually says. Makoto barely understands.

“The ocean,” Haru begins, closing his eyes, “it’s different. I...”

It’s enough. The look on Haru’s face, it tells Makoto enough.

“Okay, Haru.” He says, words soft and small, “It’s okay. But please be careful.”

“I know.” He replies, “I will.”

* * *

_Haruka-senpai,_

_I apologize for being unable to find the words via voicemail. I felt that I could more concisely convey what I’ve found through email, as well as finding the information easier to express. Also, the lack of a limit is appreciated...I do promise this email won’t be too long though!_

_I went to see Makoto-senpai, per your suggestion in your texts. It turns out that Kaneshiro-san broke up with Makoto-senpai about a month ago, to my surprise. It was...Very hard on him. For his privacy’s sake, I will not go into the details of our talk, but...He has been struggling, recently. With many things._

_I think your suggestion was on the mark, Haruka-senpai. I’m glad I managed to see him before I left...Visiting him was the right thing to do. There are some things that are rather hard to say if not in person, I’ve realized, and being able to see someone’s reaction is important. Though I’m sure you’re aware of such, and that’s why you suggested a visit..._

_If he hasn’t already, Makoto-senpai has promised to call you back soon. He’ll likely apologize to you again over the phone, but he asked me to tell you he was incredibly sorry for ignoring your calls. If I may, I’d like to ask you to forgive him, Haruka-senpai. When I first saw him, it was apparent how much he had been suffering. I know it’s not my place to say, but…Well. I expect he’ll tell you. He was not entirely in his best state of mind._

_I know you’re extremely busy, so I ask that you don’t push yourself too hard either, Haruka-senpai. I’ve seen the recent news. If you are also struggling, then I strongly suggest taking a break if you can. If you want to, of course! Your health is of utmost importance though, and I believe you’ve been working quite a lot since your time at the Olympics. Please take care of yourself._

_As for myself, London is very nice! I’m still adjusting to the differences between Japan and England, but there is a unique beauty here that I find wonderful. I’ve been visiting different museums whenever I can, as well as numerous landmarks. There’s a rich history to be found here; I think Nagisa-kun would enjoy it. Have you heard of the River Thames? I think you would like it very much._

_As always, I look forward to your reply._

_Rei_

* * *

The night is breezy. 

A cool wind crosses over his face, nipping at his skin. It caresses his body through his clothes, and he shivers as it passes him by. 

Above him, the sky twinkles, tiny stars through the murky dark. 

He’s been waiting out here for a while.

Waiting for a call. 

_“Haru, I have something important to tell you! Rumi-chan and I...We’re going to live together.”_

_“...Congratulations.”_

_“Heheh, thanks! Ahh...It’s kind of nerve-wracking, saying it out loud. But you were the first person I wanted to tell, Haru.”_

He shivers again, clutching his arms tight, leaning on the balcony rail.

For the past six months, there’s been a cold pit in his stomach. A tar-like weight draped across his shoulders, an ache inside him that he doesn’t know. A feeling that he’s never felt before. 

Haruka thinks.

_“Hey, Haru―”_

_“Makoto-kun, have you seen my― oh, sorry!”_

_“Hm? What is it, Rumi-chan? Ah, are you looking for your notebook? I think you left it in the kitchen.”_

_“Thank you so much! Say hello to Nanase-kun for me too!”_

_“I will! Ah, are you still there, Haru? Sorry about that. Rumi-chan forgets where she puts things sometimes. It’s kind of funny, haha, just yesterday...”_

Something twists inside him, turning and turning and turning too tight. 

Something _hurts_.

Rumiko, Makoto’s girlfriend. 

_Ex-girlfriend_ , something else corrects. _Makoto’s ex-girlfriend._

Haruka remembers Rumiko. He remembers meeting her, he remembers her name better than her face. He remembers her saying that she had swam breaststroke, that she had focused on it in high school, he remembers her voice as firm but friendly. He remembers her next to Makoto, remembers how she had held his arm and held his hand and that thing twisting inside him twists harder, the hollow in his chest howling.

His fists tighten. Fabric bunches up in his grasp; his nails almost in the meat of his palms.

_He didn’t tell me._

Haruka understands his path in life. He’s made his choices, and he doesn’t regret them.

But.

With the passing of time and the things that he has learned in that time, he does wonder. He wonders if his choices then would still be his choices now, if the him at that time was the current him ― he wonders for who he was at seventeen and who he is now at twenty-four.

It’s not as if the past can be changed, nor could he have seen into the future. To wonder on what could have been or what’s already happened is a pointless thing. 

Yet, Haruka wonders anyways.

Competitive swimming isn’t horrible, and Haruka finds happiness in swimming around the world, at sinking into new waters and seeing what he’s never seen, the differences in quality, in temperature, in warmth, in how other people swim within the water and how he swims within it, others who deepen his own understanding. The heat of victory is two things intertwined, a sense of pride he once wanted to cast aside and the knowledge that he still can speak to the water the best, that his connection with it is whole.

But competitive swimming is not a perfect vehicle either. The pressures, the demands, the balancing act of things Haruka has never cared for, all of it ― things in the way of his swimming, in the way of the water. Of being free. Things that bind him, casing him, claiming his thoughts, claiming his voice, little things stealing away his freedom, his desires. Do this, do that, say this, say that, even things far unrelated to the water ― sponsorships and endorsements, Haruka feels, he has had enough of. 

He understands the purpose of these things, the point. The cost of travel and training, and how his victories go beyond him, links and lines like a sprawling city map ― he understands that. It’s lately that he wonders if it’s worth it. If it’s truly what he wants now. If it’s the dream he found for himself. If a dream can change.

(He had been told. He had been warned, really, that the strength to pursue the world competitively did not come priceless. It came with ties, with restrictions, with losses, with a pain he hadn’t expected to have, his friends falling to waysides while he moved forward with his career. 

To be the best required more than simple victories, more than what he could have imagined back then. To be here now, he can’t be anywhere else. Even when he wishes to be.)

_What do I want? What will make me free?_

What is he aching for now? What direction will he go?

He knows his time in competitive will eventually end. His body is changing, his swimming is changing. That understanding comes with both sadness and relief, as the older he gets the less he cares to win, the more he understands that winning or losing doesn’t change his connection to the water. That he can still be the one who understands it the best without having to be the fastest within it. To move one’s body quicker than another through it ― that was all victory really meant. Or so he finds himself thinking more and more often, especially lately, but ― he doesn’t want to let go of it all either, not yet. The heat of victory, the pride of gold. It’s an unsettling tug-of-war within himself that he can’t sort out.

What does he want? What will make him free?

Haruka doesn’t know yet. He wanders muddied thoughts, hazy with unease, a fog of contradiction.

...Makoto still hasn’t called him.

He looks at his phone and considers calling him first, but anxiety washes over him at the thought. Makoto hasn’t picked up his calls for two weeks. He’s been left with ringing, ringing and ringing and then, _“Please leave a message after the tone.”_

Something old and uncomfortable scratches at his insides. Rises from its depths. A fear he has never been able to voice. 

Since the beginning of Haruka’s career, they’ve kept in contact, a simple understanding between them. Short calls, long calls, text messages ― Makoto sends more, calls more, but Haruka has always replied. They’ve established patterns, days, hours to speak, even just minutes, even nothing but short greetings and snippets, pictures from their daily lives. Makoto sends him stories, tales from his work about his favorites ― he claims to care equally for all his students, but Haruka knows ― about new introductions and bittersweet goodbyes. 

Haruka wonders if Misaki is still swimming. He wonders if Makoto knows. He wonders if Makoto will call him at all, if he’s all right, if―

―if he’ll come back. To Haruka’s side.

His fear, the one that he has never been able to voice ― his fear of losing the existence that has always been at his side. Of losing Makoto suddenly. 

Of, Haruka knows, in the times when he cannot hide from himself, losing Makoto at all.

_“Haru, it’s amazing, what happened today!”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Do you remember Kaneshiro-chan? Today, she...Ahh, I still can’t believe it…”_

_“...What did she do?”_

_“She...She told me she liked me. It was a complete surprise! I didn’t know what to say at first…I must have looked really embarrassed, now that I think about it...”_

_“...What are you going to do?”_

_“W-well, I told her I’d think about it, and...I think I’ll try it. Going on a date with her. She’s really nice, and I’d feel bad saying no...And...This is really embarrassing, but since it’s you, I think I can tell you...I was really happy when she said she liked me. So I think I might like her back. I’m not sure yet, but...I want to. Go on a date and see, I mean.”_

_“Mm.”_

_“Haru? Are you okay? Oh geez, I’ve just been talking about me the whole time...How was your day, Haru? Are you doing okay?”_

_“I’m fine. Just tired.”_

_“If you’re that tired, we can talk later! I know it’s late for you.”_

_“...Yeah. Tomorrow.”_

_“Mmhm! Tomorrow then.”_

_“...Good luck. With your date.”_

_“Haru, it hasn’t even been planned yet…! Ugh, I’m actually getting really nervous now…”_

_“You’ll be fine. Just don’t panic.”_

_“I’ll try...Thanks for listening, Haru.”_

_“It’s nothing. Goodnight, Makoto.”_

_“Goodnight, Haru.”_

(It wasn’t as if Rumiko had completely stolen Makoto away. Makoto had still called him, still texted him, had still been there, but ― there had been a gap formed. She had pulled Makoto elsewhere, centimeters at a time, and―

―and truthfully, if Haruka is to look without flinching at his own self, without lying, without hiding, without denying anything―

―she had taken a place he had thought was _his_. She had taken his hands, had taken his eyes, had taken what Haruka had always thought to be his, had never even considered them not to be. The things he had thought Makoto had given to him, the things he had thought were between he and Makoto alone ― she had come and taken some of it, had come and taken the space he had left unwittingly, and in turn had pulled Makoto away from his side. It had been a slow and steady movement, a glacier’s pace, something he had only been forced to face when his whole being had frozen over at once ― when Makoto had told him he was going to live with Rumiko. When Haruka had realized that Makoto was truly drifting from his side to another’s. When he had realized that his place had been shifted, when he had realized that what he wanted ― the place he had thought that he had in Makoto ― wasn’t his at all, was maybe never his to begin with.

If Haruka looks without denying himself, this is the feeling he finds, ugly and dark and suffocating, like the deep sea where light cannot reach. An arrogance. Spoiled by his own thoughts.)

Makoto, he had thought somehow, would always be there. He would never leave, would never distance, would continue on at his side in the way that he always had. No matter what. Even the few times when Haruka had dared to try and envision the far off future, Makoto had been there, the same smile and laugh, the same heat in his hand, pulling him up, being pulled in. At his side, always.

That feeling, that jealousy, the upset ― some mixture of things he doesn’t know and doesn’t like ― it leaves him aching and hollow and angry at himself, for assuming, for not being able to say anything. For not knowing what to say at all. For never saying anything even in the times when he felt that he could, for expecting this out of Makoto, deep down within him, for his own ego, as if Makoto had wanted this too, as if Makoto would want forever in the way that Haruka had simply assumed it to be.

 _It’s meaningless without you!_ Those words, he had taken those words and let his own sit inside him, unable to respond because he hadn’t wanted to look so closely at his own self. Because he had wanted to protect his own frustrating pride.

To respond to those feelings with his own was embarrassing ― he remembers feeling that way before, that he still feels it now. He remembers how the words had tied up in his throat, how he had almost spoken only to stop, instead being spoiled by Makoto’s feelings. He had been allowed to hold it within him, Makoto had smiled and said it was fine ― but there is a power in saying the words that Haruka knows exists. That even if they understand each other without them, to know for certain, to hear the truth and be assured ― that was the power in saying the words out loud, to reassure, to know without a doubt the truth in full.

Haruka has never been good with words. He’s learned, but to say what he feels even now is somewhat unnatural for him, something he often has to force himself to do. He does it anyways, because he’s learned, but with Makoto ― with Makoto somehow, he ends up being indulgent. Arrogant. Again, that arrogance, of course Makoto would know. Of course Haruka would know. Words were―

―words were weighted. Words between them carried not only the truth but the years behind them, and Haruka realizes that he is afraid.

Because of everyone, of anyone, of everything ― if his own words pushed Makoto away, Haruka would lose some part of himself. Or maybe not a part of himself, per say, but something undeniably important, something so important he feels it may as well be a part of who he is. 

What has always been by his side. What he has always wanted by his side. 

Even now, waiting for his call, Haruka can hardly think of how to say anything. All he knows is that he has to say something, or else― or else―

―his phone rings. He looks at the screen, at who’s calling.

His hands shake when he picks up.

“...Makoto?”

There’s a pause. 

“Haru,” Makoto says, “Haru...I’m sorry.”

Despite all his thoughts, Haruka finds himself speechless.

He wants to see him. He wants to be able to see and really understand why Makoto’s voice trembles, why he sounds scratchy and hoarse, if his eyes have gone hollow, why he had gone, where he had gone.

Fuzzy memories roll through Haruka’s head. Flashes of scenes from a long time ago. 

(The beach. Makoto, ankles deep in the water, the darkening sky. The tide, the empty look on Makoto’s face, the sense that somewhere within Makoto there was a place that even Haruka couldn’t reach, a place where Makoto could disappear within himself, fighting something Haruka couldn’t fight. 

Was that where he had gone again? That place? Where Haruka’s thoughts couldn’t reach. And this time, without Haruka there to pull him away, to tell him to return ― was that where he had been? 

He hopes not, for Makoto’s sake.)

_Find the words._

“It’s okay.” Haruka says, and then thinks, _useless_.

“It’s not okay.” Makoto replies, sounding upset. “I should have answered your calls. I should have replied to your texts. I’m so sorry Haru, I―”

“ _Makoto_.”

(His memory pulls and builds a ghost, a Makoto who flinches just the slightest at his tone. What Makoto would do if he was here, if Haruka was there, maybe.)

“It’s okay.” Haruka says again.

Silence. Neither of them seem to know what to say, which tells Haruka more about the state Makoto is in than anything else. Makoto always finds words. He finds them when they’re unnecessary. He’s always found them, and that he isn’t right now chills Haruka deep, leaves him scrambling in thought for something, to do what Makoto has done for him before.

“...Rei told me what happened with Ru― Kaneshiro...san.” 

He forces it out. Perhaps, or rather, probably sensing that, Makoto picks up on the rest.

“Yeah, she,” the ghost’s eyes shift, a hitching breath and split second break, “she dumped me.”

A beat. The ghost of Makoto hovers in Haruka’s eyes, that smile of Makoto’s that Haruka hates, the one where he’s trying to hide his hurt. The one where he doesn’t look at him, because he knows Haruka will know, but all that ever does is cause Haruka to look harder. 

He wishes he could now.

“I,” Makoto says, “I wasn’t a very good boyfriend, I guess.”

Haruka frowns.

“I hurt her,” Makoto says, “a lot. And the whole time I didn’t even realize it.”

Haruka scowls.

Makoto mumbles, “Hurting her, and then hurting you, I...I really need to get myself together―”

“Makoto.” Haruka says, and Makoto stops. 

He speaks.

“You were hurt too.” He says, and continues before Makoto can try to say otherwise, “It’s okay.”

He closes his eyes and tries to convey what he feels. “Don’t do it again. Don’t…”

Don’t leave. Don’t try to go. Don’t think you’ll burden me.

 _Makoto_.

“...But it’s okay, Makoto.” Haruka says, “It’ll be okay.”

Softly, “You’ll be okay.”

There’s a long pause.

“...Haru?” Makoto whispers, voice trembling. 

Haruka listens.

“I really want to see you right now.”

His grip on the rail tightens. 

He can’t say he’ll be there, because he can’t be. He can’t say he’ll come, because right now that’s impossible. There aren’t any words he can think to say, and so instead he says nothing, Makoto’s ghost growing fainter in front of him. 

He almost reaches out to grab it. _Stay_.

“...Sorry. I―” 

Makoto laughs, or rather, he tries to. “I’ve been seeing the news. You― I shouldn’t...I’m sorry. I didn’t― forget that.”

One second. Two. Half a minute shouldn’t feel so long.

“Uhm,” Makoto says, forcing himself, “Haru―”

“―I want to be there.” Haruka blurts out, because it’s the truth. “I miss you.”

It’s not something _said_ , not between them, and as the words leave his mouth he’s frozen stiff. It’s not meant to be said like this, not by him, not this way, not so desperately. Laying his heart on the floor like this has never been his way.

Makoto stops talking. Haruka continues because his heart is threatening to tear through his chest.

Quietly, awkwardly, he finds the words. Whispers, sounds that barely escape.

“I miss you. I―” 

He swallows. 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

It’s hot, painfully so. His hand holds the railing in a vice grip. 

He wants to run. To escape this embarrassing feeling spreading through his soul, somehow, but he stays, listening to Makoto’s inhale, exhale.

“Haru,” Makoto whispers, “Haru, I―”

He stops talking again. Haruka waits, fidgeting where he stands. The wind blows over him, soft and cool.

“Haru,” Makoto says finally, “I...I miss you too. I’ve missed you. A lot. This whole time, I...”

They will be fine. They will find a way. He will find a way. 

(There are many things he may have thrown away to rise to where he is now. But this will never be one of those. To throw this away would be to throw away his self, in this moment he knows. He knows.

He hears the ocean, the waves. The tide and Makoto. A tiny thing splashing in a plastic pool. An amazed yell, and the insistence that they should swim together. A hand in his as they walk along the beach, small enough that the waves could knock them over.

He hears the ocean. He hears the waves. 

He hears the sounds of home.)

“I don’t want to lose you either.” Makoto says, a little sturdier. “Just hearing you say that makes me...I...You’ve always been there for me, and I...”

He trails off, but Haruka thinks he understands his silence, this time, even over the phone.

He closes his eyes to the world to listen to Makoto’s voice, his breathing. Searches for what he wants to say.

His heart is peaceful when he says, “It’s because you’ve always been there for me.”

* * *

_Makoto-senpai― Makoto, what happened? Can you tell me?”_

_“...”_

_“...Pardon me for asking this, but...Erm...Did Kaneshiro-san...Did you break up?”_

_“...Yeah.”_

_“Ah. I― I’m sorry.”_

_“...”_

_“...Makoto...I think you should talk to Haruka-senpai.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“Wh― Why?”_

_“Because I― If it’s Haru, then― I―”_

* * *

Yasuhiro Iwatani likes the sad ones.

There’s something fun about walking over the shattered pieces of their shields and leaving his own mark deep within them, of mixing a person up inside so badly when they’re already vulnerable. There’s a joy in it, watching someone fall prey to their own inner demons, hearing the juicy bits of someone’s life from a distance, of watching a show filmed in real time.

He’s aware he’s a little twisted. But so is everyone else, so what does it matter?

He browses the bar.

Around him, people flirt in the lowlight, each and every one seeking something similar. Yasuhiro picks off the singles one by one in his mind, _too happy, too smug, too cold_. 

He knows what he’s looking for. 

The door to the bar opens, jingling a little as it does, and Yasuhiro grins at what stumbles in.

He’s tall, this one, and broad. From where Yasuhiro’s sitting, he can’t see his expression too well, but everything about him screams contained misery, his hunched shoulders, hanging head. By the way he stumbles inside, Yasuhiro guesses this is the second or third bar of this man’s night, and really, what an excellent night this has just turned into. 

He takes his time walking towards the head of honey-brown hair, waiting until after the bartender has brought him something. He’s careful to settle slowly, casually, into the seat next to him at the bar, as if he’s just walked in too. 

The man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to realize someone has sat next to him, and at this distance Yasuhiro can see the dark smudges under his eyes, hidden by his hair falling over his face, a haggard, haunted look. He guesses he’s in his twenties by the way his face is shaped, the touch of youth still there. He’s nursing a shot of something, rolling the glass in his hands slowly, amber liquid flickering in the lamplight. Mindless.

He looks miserable. He’s perfect. 

Yasuhiro orders something strong and expensive, though he’s not really looking at the menu when he does it. He doesn’t have much of a preference, and it’s really more of a pretense anyways.

“Rough night?” Yasuhiro asks softly, and the man starts, jerks up to look at him with green eyes that hit him harder than he’d like to admit. He blinks twice in a row, like he’s trying to come back to reality; it’s such a strangely cute thing for someone his size to do. Yasuhiro had already thought he was an ideal mark, but now he’s sure of it. Vulnerability comes off him in waves ― it almost seems too easy. 

“Um.” He says, “Y-Yeah.”

He blinks again. Shakes his head once. 

Yasuhiro watches in fascination as his face locks into a neat mask, a smiling face that can’t hide the darkness in his eyes. It’s incredible. Amusing. Almost impressive, and Yasuhiro feels a thrill, a strong wave of desire. 

He wants to break that mask, tear this man apart to see what’s tearing _him_ apart. He holds back a grin.

“I mean,” says the man, “it’s not...That bad. I’ve had worse, ahaha...”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of it, when he says that. It doesn’t seem to be working.

“How about you?” He asks, and Yasuhiro thinks he puts up a good front, he really does, but the desperation in his question betrays him. Avoiding the spotlight.

“Not the best or the worst.” Yasuhiro answers easily. “I’m Iwatani Hiro, by the way.”

“Ah, I’m Tachibana Makoto.”

They shake hands. Yasuhiro isn’t a small man, but his hand is definitely slimmer than Tachibana’s is, and the thought of pulling such a man apart becomes even more attractive.

There’s a beat of silence. Tachibana shifts in his seat. Yasuhiro’s drink arrives.

“So,” Yasuhiro says after a sip, something warm and silky, “what do you do, Tachibana-san?”

“Oh, I, I’m a swim coach. Instructor.” He fiddles with his glass again. “I teach kids how to swim.”

“Wow, sounds tough.” Yasuhiro smiles, coaxing and friendly, and Tachibana’s shoulders begin to untense, the smile on his face edging a little closer to genuine.

“It’s not so bad. What do you do, Iwatani-san?”

He’s polite, well raised. His voice stays at a soft neutral. It’s almost as if he’s here for a night out, not to drown his sorrows, but Yasuhiro knows. 

Yasuhiro _knows_. 

“Oh, I’m in business. Office work, boring stuff.” He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “Pays well though, so I can’t complain too often.”

“I’m sure it’s busy.” Tachibana says, and Yasuhiro sets his elbow on the counter, leaning, cheek in hand.

“Recently it’s been pretty busy, yeah.” Yasuhiro sighs, fiddling with his glass in the same way Tachibana had been. “My coworkers don’t really have a clue what they’re doing, so it usually falls to me to handle things. I’m swamped with extra work.”

Tachibana makes a soft noise of sympathy, and Yasuhiro leans a little closer.

“Do you have any troublesome coworkers, Tachibana-san?” 

“Hm, well…” 

There’s a pause, as if Tachibana is remembering something, and then he smiles fondly, eyes playing a distant memory. 

“No, not really. Everyone is really nice. Kind of like a family.”

“Family, huh? Sounds nice.” Yasuhiro sighs again, turns his head and keeps Tachibana in the corner of his eye. “I can’t imagine that right now, inside or outside the office.”

Tachibana twitches, a little jerk of his fingers against his glass. Yasuhiro continues.

“I’d like someone to come home to, but I’ve been too busy for a relationship lately. The last one I had, well,” he lets loose a self-deprecating laugh, “it ended pretty badly.” 

Tachibana’s stare has returned to the bar counter, honed in on his drink. 

Yasuhiro takes another sip of his.

“...It’s a little lonely.” He says, voice soft, plying, sliding through the cracks in Tachibana’s mask. “You know?”

Tachibana’s silence is deafening. Yasuhiro waits, watches, allows the minutes to tick by.

Tachibana then drinks the rest of his shot in one go, lifting it high and near chugging it down. Yasuhiro watches his throat, the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, noting the way he coughs once after his final swallow. He notes the way he twitches at the hard sound his glass makes when he sets it down against the counter, how he takes a breath and swallows again like his throat is painfully dry.

“I’m,” Tachibana says, voice like sandpaper, “I’m sure you’ll find somebody soon, Iwatani-san.”

“Maybe.” His finger follows the rim of his glass, contemplating, inwardly pleased. “Hopefully.”

Another beat of silence. One of the bartenders comes their way, and Tachibana orders something else, that hollow look on his face again. 

“...But that’s me.” Yasuhiro says, and then, “How about you, Tachibana-san? Do you have anyone?”

Tachibana locks up again. Or at least, he tries to, but he’s got a telltale flush growing on his cheeks, burned by alcohol, and Yasuhiro knows how to be patient.

“I,” he starts, falters, staring hard at the counter, “I’m...No, there’s no one.”

His second drink comes. He grabs at it and downs half the glass in one go, face twisting at the taste. 

“That’s a surprise.” Yasuhiro says, his hand gentle on Tachibana’s arm, as if to steady him. “You seem like such a nice person, Tachibana-san.”

There is a long pause.

“...I wonder.” Tachibana mumbles, and there it is, the bitterness Yasuhiro had been searching for, had been pulling at. 

By the way his jaw shifts, Yasuhiro can tell he’s gritting his teeth. Regrets speaking, eyes shifting away, subtly pulling his arm from Yasuhiro’s touch.

“Hey now,” Yasuhiro says, reaching again and patting his shoulder once, twice, “it sounds like you’ve had a tough time.”

He’s close. Each crack in his facade is getting bigger, crawling up his face and against his skin, slowly crackling open. He’ll break. He’s already breaking.

Just a little more.

“I’d be glad to take something off your shoulders.” He says, words dripping a kind of sickly sweet, “I know how hard it can be, sometimes, carrying your troubles alone. It helps, letting it out.”

He takes a sip of his own shot, a little warm. “Makes it easier.”

Tachibana drinks again. Not everything in his glass, but more than a single swallow.

He says, voice soft and neutral as he stares at the wall in front of them, 

“...My girlfriend broke up with me.” 

“Long relationship?” Yasuhiro asks.

“Three years.” Tachibana answers, and then, “We were living together.”

Yasuhiro shakes his head, sympathetic. “Must have hurt.”

Tachibana doesn’t respond. He just keeps staring at the wall, completely still, as if in a trance. 

Yasuhiro has to admit, he’s a bit more interesting than Yasuhiro had given him credit for. He’s holding himself together remarkably well, for someone who had seemed so vulnerable at first glance, so open. Only half his heart is actually worn on his sleeve, looks like, the other half kept closed, and a hot thrill simmers low in his gut at the challenge that presents, at how close he is to cracking him open entirely. 

“...How’d it happen?” He raises his glass to his lips, smoothly swallows another sip, barely any left. “Did she...You know...Find someone else?”

“No. There’s no way she would do something like that.” 

His voice is surprisingly firm; words he believes with his whole being. Yasuhiro looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“So what went wrong?” He asks, and Tachibana stiffens. 

“Easy.” Yasuhiro murmurs, setting his hand on his arm again.

Tachibana breathes, but doesn’t try to shake him off. There’s a long pause, so long that Yasuhiro considers asking another question when Tachibana begins to speak, his words quiet enough that Yasuhiro has to lean closer to hear.

“...She told me I never loved her.” 

He drinks again. Swallows the rest in his glass, hangs his head in his hands after he sets it down.

“That’s,” Yasuhiro considers, “harsh.”

“I don’t know if she was right.” Tachibana murmurs between his fingers. Yasuhiro’s heart spikes. 

The bartender looks at Tachibana with concern, but Yasuhiro waves him off, orders another of whatever Tachibana had asked for earlier, and they comply, though not without another worried glance his way. 

“What do you mean by that?” Yasuhiro asks, only after the next drink has come. He sets it in front of Tachibana, who turns, those green eyes wide, lost. “It’s on me.”

“Thank you.” He says, taking it in hand. He doesn’t drink it. He stares at it, stares at his hands, Yasuhiro realizes, he’s staring at his hands.

Quietly, without judgement, he asks, “...Did you love her?”

“I thought I did.” Tachibana says, and then he drinks, slow and long. “I. I don’t know anymore.”

He’s flushed now, red cheeks, neck, his mouth. 

“I,” he says, “liked her. But I don’t...I don’t know if I ever...”

“...Loved her.” Yasuhiro finishes for him, and Tachibana cracks. It’s a visible shift, all his mask falling off, the edge of his mouth twisting into something ugly, and Yasuhiro thinks _yes._

“When she said that,” he’s trembling, the liquid in his glass shakes, “when she told me that, I―”

His head turns away. 

“I thought ― I realized ― she was _right_.”

Yasuhiro keeps his hand where it is, watches the red on Tachibana’s skin.

“I liked her,” he says, the words fast and scratchy, “but I don’t think I ever loved her. Not like that.”

He murmurs, looking aside, “Not in the way that she did.”

“I see.” Yasuhiro says, allowing the quiet that follows. Tachibana drinks the rest of the third shot. He sets the glass down and it rattles, his hands unsteady, his body beginning to sway just a little, just enough. He stays sitting for about five minutes before standing up with jittery, nervous energy, and nearly trips over the stool out of his desire to move, to get out of this place, to get away from the words he’d just said.

“Hey now, calm down. Relax, relax.” Yasuhiro taps his arm, careful. People are different when they’re drunk and afraid. It comes with the game, but he’s not looking to get a black eye either. “We all make mistakes in our youth. Feelings especially. They’re hard to figure out.”

“I should have known. I did know. I knew, I just...I didn’t want to admit it.” He’s speaking fast now. A panic attack isn’t what Yasuhiro meant to induce. “I thought...I thought I’d get over him―”

At that, his mouth clamps shut. Yasuhiro stares, glee and surprise mixing. 

Now _this_ is drama. Truly the show of the night.

Unfortunately, Tachibana leaves. He sets down money silently and runs, like sobriety crashed into him at his own words, and Yasuhiro watches before turning back to the counter, bemusedly sipping his drink.

“Poor kid.” He says to no one in particular.

* * *

_“I want to retire."_

_"What? Right now?"_

_"Yes."_

* * *

Retirement is quiet.

His days are filled with simpler things. He takes a long bath every morning. He stretches. He cooks whatever he wants, Aji pawing at the counter before he shoos her off, and then he goes out for a run. He calls back his sponsors and managers and everyone he has to call back, he sometimes does one of the things he’s contracted to do, and then he swims.

_Please be careful._

His face, his voice, it echoes. Echoes and echoes. The ocean waves over him in the same way, gentle and cool, sand slipping from his fingers, between his toes. Seafoam crashes against rocks, shells spiral and spin, and his world is nothing but the void he knows, the touch of the sea he was born by. 

(His grandmother he can only vaguely remember now, but her words ― they have stayed.

_When you’re ten, they call you a prodigy. When you’re fifteen, they call you a genius. Once you hit twenty, you’re just an ordinary person._

Ordinary. He had wanted to be, once, but then...That had changed. And changed again.)

He swims. He swims, and the sea cradles him, and he swims until he aches a little, hears _please, be careful._

He lies on the sand, then, soaking the sun, the waves barely reaching his feet. 

“Haru!” He hears, and then again, closer, “Haru, I know you’re awake.”

“Makoto.” He answers, his eyes still closed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you.” He sounds amused. Haruka opens an eye to glare, but as he does he realizes the closeness of Makoto’s face, the broad pull of his smile, the slopes of his eyes. 

“For what?”

“You’ll see.”

That does annoy him, whatever surprise Makoto has scheming, so he turns in the sand, ignoring how it digs a little. “Don’t want to.”

“Haru! Come on.”

He tugs at his arm. His hand is hot, which makes sense, but the touch of it startles him enough to get up, rougher hands then he remembers.

“Great, come on. It’s back in your apartment.”

Makoto has a spare key. As Haruka intended. 

(Everything is different. Everything is the same. Everything is as he wanted, and yet not, also.

In the time they’ve been separated, in the time they’ve spent apart, no matter that they met each year when they could ― in that time, Makoto has changed. The way he speaks is slower, careful, the rhythm of a gentle teacher. His face has matured. He wears his glasses more often. When he occupies the space next to Haruka, heat comes off of him, and something slides across Haruka’s neck, that same heat, the touch of his hand, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The same, and yet ― not the same. Different, now that he is aware, aware of the things he thinks he wants, of the things he seeks, of the spaces he wants to fill and be filled.

He’s tried so hard. To keep this single thing safe. To keep it whole.)

“I know it’s kind of early, but this was the only time I could get everyone.” Makoto says, opening the door to his apartment, and just as Haruka is about to ask him what he’s talking about, the laptop on the low table shouts, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARU-CHAN!”

“Could you be any louder?” 

“My ears…”

“Happy birthday, Haruka-senpai!”

He stares at the laptop, which has come to life with pictures, video screens of his friends. 

His birthday. Right. In a few days, he’ll be twenty-seven. 

“I can’t believe you retired!”

“Quitting on a high note, huh?”

“Is that a cat?”

“Makoto, bring him closer, we can barely see him.”

He steps closer of his own accord, though Makoto follows with a beaming smile and a hand on his arm. He lets it stay.

“Were you swimming?”

“Of course he was."

“What else would he be doing?”

“Didn’t you retire?”

“So what, he’s not allowed to swim anymore?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“You’re all noisy.” Haruka says at all of them, but he can feel the smile on his face. “Thanks, everyone.”

“You’re getting soft already.” Rin says, amused. “And Makoto set it up.” 

“Unexpectedly.” Sousuke adds, and a small ripple of laughter breaks out. 

Makoto, exasperated, “I get confused with a computer _one time_ ―”

When was the last time he saw everyone like this? Past birthdays had been filled with training, calls and texts, but never all at once. Seeing them all here now, a warmth unfurls in his chest, and he sits down on his couch in front of the laptop, still damp in his swimsuit, sand sticking to his back.

“Ah, I’ll get you a towel.” Makoto says, disappearing into the bathroom. “Aji, not again!” 

“Aji? Who’s that?”

“My cat.” 

“A kitty! Haru-chan, you have to show us now! Come on!”

“A cat _would_ be nicer to look at.”

“Oi, Tono, you―”

Makoto settles next to him, passing him a towel. Aji follows, leaning curiously towards the laptop. She takes up half the frame, obscuring Haruka from view, not that anyone seems to mind.

“Cute!”

“When did you adopt a cat?”

Banter goes back and forth, here and there. Fragments of stories are exchanged. Rin and Ikuya have to go fairly quickly ― their schedules are tight, the season is getting busy ― and the others drop off one after another, warm wishes and good tidings, life calling, plans made. 

Hiyori, surprisingly, is the last to leave. He’s leaning back, playing with Aji through the screen, his finger moving back and forth as she watches, ready to pounce.

“Enjoy your new life, Nanase.” He says, breezy, but there’s sincerity there too. “You too, Makoto. Must be nice.”

(The way he says it, like a natural thing ― his and Makoto’s life―)

“Thanks.” Haruka says, and then Hiyori signs off and disappears, spooking Aji out of her concentration. She hops away, leaving Makoto and Haruka on the couch.

“Wonder what he meant by that.” Makoto says, not getting up. Haruka doesn’t answer.

(Years ago, in highschool, when he had been drifting, seeking ordinary ― he had disliked being seen as a part of something. What he had wanted to was to be simply nothing, alone, Haruka Nanase, a person among many. When he had been with Makoto though, he had been a part of Haruka and Makoto, Tachibana and Nanase. He had been seen, and recalled, and real, and Makoto had never quite let him disappear no matter how hard he had tried.

At the time, it had been bothersome. Now, he’s grateful for it. Had he disappeared ― had Makoto let him disappear ― his life would not be this, a warm thing in his whole body. A sort of peace he used to think was out of reach. A different kind of happiness.)

Makoto leans back, content, and Haruka wants to lean back with him. He doesn’t.

“Did you really forget your own birthday, Haru?”

He shrugs, unwilling to admit it. Makoto’s eyes crinkle in mirth.

“I hope you’re free the actual day. I was thinking...We could go back to Iwatobi for a day? My parents want to see you, and Ren and Ran...Of course, only if you want to! I know sometimes reporters hang around, and it’s your birthday, so―”

“I want to go.” He says, because he really, truly does. “There’s something I want to do there.”

Makoto turns to him, curious. “Something you want to do? What is it?”

“Swim.”

“...Seriously?"

He nods. Makoto shakes his head, but a tiny laugh escapes him, hand over his mouth, hiding his smile.

(Retirement is quiet.

It’s so quiet it’s almost deafening, sometimes, compared to the noise of his life before it, but as he sits here with Makoto, as he finds his footing again in this place, as he reaches for answers now that he feels he can, it feels right. It feels like the decision he wanted to make. It feels like things are aligning in the way he believed they would when he decided on retiring, here in this room, the sound of the sea, Makoto, and the sink.)

He listens.

“...Aji’s turned the sink on again.” He says, and Makoto exclaims,

“How does she keep getting in there?!”

* * *

_"Of course you can have the house, Haruka. Your father and I rarely use it anyways.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“...We’re proud of you, you know. You’ve done very well for yourself.”_

_“...”_

_“Whatever you want to do now, Haruka, know that we believe in you. You’ve always been a strong boy.”_

* * *

Haruka takes a deep breath.

“Smells the same.” Is what he says first, and Makoto takes a breath as well.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

He smiles the way he usually does. “Somehow, not much has changed.”

They had ended up going to Iwatobi a week after his actual birthday. His actual birthday had been taken up by a press conference of sorts, and then the days after had been other annoying busywork, plus Makoto’s work schedule. The day doesn’t really matter to him, but he knows Makoto was a little bothered. He’s always insisted that some days are special.

“Nii-chan!” “Aniki!” “Haru-nii!”

Ren and Ran run their way. Seeing them makes him ache, how much they’ve grown in his absence. He feels old, older still when Ran hugs him and comes up to his chin, taller then the last time.

“It’s been _forever_ since we last saw you, Haru-nii!”

“We saw each other last year.” He points out, and Ran pouts. Ren snickers, until Makoto reaches over to ruffle his hair, offended when he’s waved away.

“Ren’s trying to look cool because of his girlfriend, don’t worry about it.” She says, and at that, both he and Makoto turn.

“Girlfriend?” They both ask, and Ren turns red. 

“I was gonna tell them!”

“Yeah well, too bad.”

She sticks out her tongue at him. Makoto laughs and tells her to knock it off, and Haruka settles into it, the atmosphere, the sound, the sights. The return to a place he knows as _home_.

The Tachibanas welcome him with open arms, as they always have, and offer him lunch with a tiny cake. They eat and ask him about what he’s been doing, if he’s adjusting all right, remind him that he’s always welcome to visit, and that they’ve been cleaning his house now and again. They don’t do much birthday fanfare besides the cake, which he appreciates. They ask him about why he retired, and accept his answer of, “It just felt like the right time.”

In return, he asks about the convenience store down the street, and what has changed since he was last here, what he’s missed. What new things have come around while he was gone, if the ocean still sounds the same.

They laugh a little at his last question.

“It hasn’t changed to my ears, but you might hear something different, Haru-kun.”

He might, he realizes. He hasn’t taken a moment to tell for certain.

He and Makoto leave the Tachibanas’ house a little later, walking up the stairs to his house. As he slides open the door and takes in the dark wood, hearing a chime ring in the wind ― as he steps inside he feels like he’s returning, or rather, meeting something he left behind.

(The hum of the sink, the old stove. The wood creaks under his feet.)

“They’ve really been keeping it clean.” Makoto says, sounding surprised. “There’s not even dust at the top of the cabinets!”

(The sound of the sea through the walls. Crashing against the rocks, the waves, the sand. Pitter patters of droplets, the sea spray, filling his soul again, a return, a reminder, a welcome.)

He wanders towards his old room and lies down on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Makoto looks at him quizzically, asks, “What are you doing, Haru?”

“Reminiscing.” He answers, and then, “It’s comfortable here.”

“Hm.” He hears Makoto come closer. “Ah, do you remember that time we watched that one movie? The scary one. We ended up on the floor watching under your bed.”

“Yeah.”

(It sinks into his bones.

_When you’re ten, they call you a prodigy. When you’re fifteen, they call you a genius. Once you hit twenty, you’re just an ordinary person._

Ordinary, ordinary.

She had said that to him when he had first been called a swimming prodigy by the teacher. Even then, Haruka had understood that she hadn’t meant it rudely, but as a simple fact ― the bar went up as one got older, up and up until it went down again, years and years into the future. 

In the world he once was in, they would claim he set the bar where it was now, and he had. But someone else would set it again eventually. Someone else would mark that world again, in the way he once did, and he would be closer to ordinary once again, the mark he made faded against the new.

It doesn’t upset him, the thought. It might have, years ago when he was in the thick of his career, but now he finds himself thinking that’s the way it should be. That’s what should happen, one day, someday, because he’ll have made marks elsewhere, in a smaller world, a more private world, his own world, and that will be what lasts forever. That will be where the _ordinary_ he seeks lies.

The space he seeks to occupy now is one he has always sought. One he has always taken, and wanted to be taken by one other person, the person at his side. Something only for him.)

“Let’s go to the beach.” He says, getting up. Makoto startles, having seemingly zoned out, and nods.

“Swimming?”

He doesn’t have to answer. The look he gives is enough, and Makoto nods again. They walk down to the beach in companionable silence, and Haruka observes Makoto from the corner of his eye, seeking the words, the things he’s been meaning to say.

(How do you ask for forever? He wonders. It’s not as simple as what he’s seen said online, or in books, or movies, or shows. There are words that are said to convey that, but they aren’t exactly the things he means. The thing he wants, the thing he aches for.

In the past six months he’s been retired, he’s been seeking answers. Seeking the truths he left aside in the pursuit of victory. Seeking what he wants in his future, what he believes should be there, what he hopes for. 

He thinks he’s found some answers. Not all, but enough. Enough to get him through to the rest, should he pursue them.)

Makoto hums a pop tune. It’s something Ran was showing him, an earworm from the radio, and he catches Haruka’s eye and smiles warmly, a little flushed.

“Are you happy to be back?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’ve missed this.”

(All of this, all of _this_ ―)

“Me too.” Makoto says softly, like he knows the truth, the meaning behind the words, and Haruka―

Haruka aches, and aches, and aches, and at the same time, feels whole. The two of them leaving footprints in the sand, the sea against their ankles ― the rush of the waves calls him to home. To where he wants to be.

* * *

_“So you’ll be all the way out there, huh…”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“...But I’m sure it’s nice over there! You’ll be focused on training, but maybe you’ll get some time to sightsee? It’d be a shame if you couldn’t.”_

_“Maybe. I’ll send pictures if I have any.”_

_“That’d be great! Ah, I wish I could come over there to see you, but…”_

_“Don’t waste money on that.”_

_“It’s not a waste if I’m seeing you, Haru! Especially on your birthday...”_

* * *

They stay out until late, summer heat keeping them in the water.

(He’s fine, because Haru is here, and he’s older, and the darkness of the ocean seems...Less. The danger that lies in the water’s deep recedes, and he swims without reservations, the salty tang of the ocean, sand scraping at his skin. 

It’s all right. It’s all right.)

He really needed to swim here. In this place, on this beach. It reminds him of everything. It teaches him something he already knew. It returns him to himself.

(The sun settles against the waves, blue turning red and pink and orange, purple and then blue again, stars speckling the sky as the light reflects off the waves. Pretty. Like an endless sky.)

They pull out of the water when it gets truly dark, hot day turning cooler, but when Makoto turns towards his house, Haruka pulls him another way, towards the pier, the fence where they’ve spoken in the past, and Makoto follows.

He doesn’t know why Haru pulls him here, but he follows because he can tell it’s important. That whatever has been on Haru’s mind is coming out, probably, and he’s happy to be the one he tells, to hear what he’s been thinking about.

(Strangely, Haru holds his hand. It’s dark out here, and he thinks his footsteps are largely based on memory rather then sight. 

He doesn’t want to shake him off. Rather, he loves it. Haru’s hand in his, Haru ― all of this, everything, it feels special. 

More than special, it feels...Right. As if it was supposed to be. 

He wonders if Haru feels this way too.)

He stops at the fence. The fence where they fought, the fence where he told him what made him happy. Where fireworks blared as his world crumbled, once, came alive, another.

“Makoto.” He starts, letting go of his hand to look at him. 

Green eyes meet his own and wait. 

This place is full of memories. Good ones, bad ones. Complicated feelings.

Haru looks at him. His eyes reflect the little light that reaches this place, and he’s serious, as serious as Makoto has ever seen him.

(He’s...Beautiful, really. Haru’s always been― always been good looking, but right now, hair still damp from the ocean, lightly dressed in a windbreaker, right now looking at him almost hurts. 

He’s wanted him so badly for so long, but it’s only right now that it hits him full force again, just how much he’s loved Haru. How much he loves him still.)

“When I decided to retire,” Haruka begins, because now he knows, “it was because I had gotten tired.”

Makoto looks confused. Haruka looks to the side, just a little, trying to sort his thoughts out in full.

“The strength to pursue victory,” he continues, “means you have to throw something else away.”

He had chosen to trade instead. He had chosen to trade and been allowed it because what he had traded had let him do so.

“I remember you saying that.” Makoto says, “It was something Azuma-san said.”

He nods.

“I...Didn’t want to throw anything away.” 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. No matter if he should or not, or if he deserved to be there if he didn’t…

...He couldn’t. It wasn’t something he could do. To give up what had propelled him forward, his friends, his companions, he couldn’t. To give up _this_ was unthinkable. 

He continues.

“Instead, I tried... I tried to trade.”

Ryuuji had scolded him for it. He had said it was a waste of time, and prolonging the inevitable, and his bitterness had been proof to Haruka of the value. Of the necessity.

“What I traded was…” 

He pauses, then looks back at Makoto, firm in his belief. “What I traded was this.”

“This?” Makoto asks, because he can’t follow. Or rather, following would do too much to his heart, his head, his everything, as he and Haru stand here and talk, leaning against an old railing, their eyes adjusting to the darkness of the night.

“This.” Haruka says, looking him straight in the eyes, and as he sees the gears turn in Makoto’s head, he says, “Please move in with me.”

How does a person ask for forever? How does he explain everything he’s ever felt, the ache that’s been there since he started his professional career, the one that grew as he grew, the thing inside him that says _Makoto_ and nothing else, no one else.

He won’t live denying himself any longer. That just isn’t possible. If― If Makoto says no, it’s different, but― but he has to try, because what he wants is more then what’s here. What he wants is the promise of it, the assurance that the space next to Makoto is his to claim and his to keep. That he wants Makoto to have that space of his, that he’s never imagined anyone else, that without him it’s...Meaningless, empty. Lacking.

( _Would Haru be alright even if I weren’t here?_

Even back then, he couldn’t lie to himself. Even back then, he had understood. It’s only now that he has the strength to say it, after years of unfurling it, years of looking. Years of running away.

 _I wouldn’t have looked for you if I were_.)

He can’t keep up. 

“What?” 

(The sea, it calls. It calls and calls, swallowing him. All his fears.

_They don’t need you. They never needed you._

Haru’s eyes though, they pull him away. As they have before.)

He doesn’t say anything. He just waits, looking at Makoto, watching it sink in, and then he says, “Makoto.”

He doesn’t move, but he holds his gaze. He watches understanding unfold on his face, his eyes lighting up, confusion, happiness, stunned silence.

“I,” he says, and his hands tremble, “I.” 

How does a person ask for forever?

His body moves automatically. He doesn’t know how to speak.

Instead, he pulls Haru into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder. Tears spill from his eyes.

“Haru,” he whispers, “really?”

He holds him back, still trembling.

“Please.” He says, and his voice is small and weak. Silent tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he buries his face into Makoto’s shoulder, the ache in his body rattling his chest. 

The sea continues to move. Wave after wave curling against the rocks. Returning to itself.

* * *

_“Haru, congratulations! I can’t believe you’re going to the Olympics…!”_

_“I haven’t won yet.”_

_“Heh, you’re really excited, aren’t you. Somehow, I expected that. You’ve got a lot of training to do still though, right?”_

_“Yeah, a lot. But I can manage it.”_

_“I know you can, Haru. You know, I’m moving forward too, in my own way. So…Do your best. And I’ll do mine.”_

_“Obviously.”_

* * *

When they untangle, they talk. They talk while sitting down, shoulders touching, backs against the rails. They talk about things they haven’t talked about, they talk about things they have talked about, they unroll their histories to each other, the paths of their feelings made clear.

“I didn’t realize until we had that fight.” Haruka murmurs, and Makoto hums in understanding. “I knew, but when you said you were leaving, I understood.”

“I tried to give up on you then.” Makoto says, his head falling onto Haruka’s shoulder. “I tried. I thought I did.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” 

“Me too.”

“When you started going out with Rumiko, I felt it again.” Haruka says, a hand on his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt. “When you moved in together.”

Makoto turns his face into his shoulder.

“She knew I was thinking about someone else.” His heart twists at his upset sigh. “She knew the whole time. I did something terrible to her.”

Haruka doesn’t say anything to that.

Instead, he holds Makoto’s hand, because it feels right. His palm is heavy and warm. 

“Haru," Makoto says, "I love you.” 

His nose brushes against his neck, sends shivers all over his body. “I’ve loved you for...For a long time.”

 _I’m probably the same,_ Haruka thinks, but the words are still sticky in his throat. Still hard to say, despite what he feels, they get stuck. 

Is it that they aren’t enough? Or is it that they aren’t exactly it, but the closest he can find? 

Or is it simply pride again, that saying so would admit he needs him, words against the part of him who still believes he is only himself alone. The part that refuses to admit others.

One day, he believes, soon, even, he’ll bend. Because everything goes Makoto’s way. 

Not unwillingly. More like sand slipping from open fingers. The force of the sea. The call.

“...You were the only one.” He says instead, hoping Makoto understands. “You’re the only one.”

He holds his hand tighter. Makoto squeezes back, almost enough to hurt.

* * *

It takes him three months, but Makoto moves into Haru’s second bedroom.

Changing his address takes some time, and he tries to offer rent or half the cost, but Haru is adamant on not accepting anything. Eventually he just accepts it. He’ll make up for it somehow. He brings all his own furniture, at least, so that’s an expense spared.

(“We’re going back to Iwatobi.” Haru says to him, and Makoto agrees. One day.) 

For now though, he takes the train to work. Haru begins taking art classes, does a few sponsorship offers. He’s thinking about going back to try coaching, but isn’t sure yet.

“I talked to Rin about it. He didn’t help. He just said I’d suck at it.”

He sounds so put out that Makoto can’t help but giggle. Haru frowns, but the edges of it are soft.

(They’re still learning. This relationship now ― it’s what they’ve always known and something they’ve never had all at once. 

When he comes home Haru greets him, or sometimes he greets Haru, but the greetings are different, even if the words are the same. They hold each other more and at night he finds himself in Haru’s bed, or Haru in his, and their skin touches; now he knows the feel of his mouth. The taste of it.

They touch and they touch again and they _live,_ side by side. As they always have, but different. Different.

What will he tell his parents? What will they tell their friends? He doesn’t know, really, and the thoughts put anxiety in him, but Haru is― Haru is steadying. 

“We’ll tell them when we feel like it.” He says with a shrug, and it’s so...Haru-like that he can’t help but calm down.

He doesn’t say he loves him again. But he adores him in every way he can, and Haru opens his arms to it. 

He tends to take his hand. Every time he does Makoto feels like he’s going to combust.)

Haru gets up, stretches and says, “Let’s go swimming, Makoto.”

“Sure.”

And so they go. They swim. 

They swim, reaching for each other in the water, seeking, seeing, knowing. 

(And sometimes Haru, when they're alone in the darkness of night, in the middle of the pool, or on the rocks by the ocean where they sit, sometimes he leans over and whispers something. He whispers a single word, and Makoto hears him, and it’s all they need. It’s all they’ve ever known.)

* * *

_New Post from Haruka Nanase_

_Hello._

_Many people have left kind words. Thank you._

_When I decided to retire, I wasn’t sure why. I just knew it was what I wanted to do. That is what I meant by “I no longer felt free”._

_The water has spoken to me all my life. When I was young, all I wanted to do was swim. Even now, I continue to swim as I like. I will never stop swimming. But I have decided to stop competing. I don’t plan on returning to that world._

_I am happy with how my time went. It was fulfilling. I have no regrets._

_Without my friends, I wouldn’t have ever swam the way I did. It was their support that continued to push me farther ahead. I’m grateful._

_To those who have supported me for all these years, thank you._

_Please do what makes you free._

_Haruka Nanase_

**Author's Note:**

> _“If you love someone, do not clip their wings. Let them fly ― let them go._   
>  _And if they return, then know they are yours. As you were always theirs.”_
> 
> Hi, hello. Long time no see, maybe.
> 
> Ah, how do I...Well. 27 is kind of like...The culmination of many things. It's a bit of an apology for [a song played twice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448413/chapters/5425277), if anyone around has read that or been waiting on it, it's a sorting of my feelings about seasons 2 and 3, it's me trying to express how deep I think makoharu goes, and how hard it actually is to write because I care about it that much. It's about being 24 and looking at the free! characters and ageing with them, in a sense, and wanting to kind of build their future even though I disagree with some of the shows decisions at the end of the day. It's a thought process. It's kind of silly, but I try to stay true to the spirit of free...Sorry for getting all sentimental.
> 
> Fun fact, this fic is actually two years old, I checked. I started writing it and put it down for probably at least 6 months due to life. But with COVID and all, and just some memories, I suddenly wanted to return to it.
> 
> There's probably a lot I could say, but I'll just end with I stayed up until 4 am compelled to finish this, and as always, comments/questions/thoughts are welcome. I'll never be entirely free of free!, I think, and makoharu might as well have changed my life. I can only hope I do it justice every time. Also, I have to ask, does anyone know why Ao3 likes to add an extra space after italics? It seriously adds to the editing time.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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